#how to find an editor

[rozmorris]

What's editing - and how do editors work with writers? Interview at Writers' Narrative magazine

Why is editing so important for writers? Why is it publishing’s biggest – and best-kept – secret? How do editors work with writers to ensure clarity and consistency – and yet preserve the writer’s unique voice and flavour? What if the writer disagrees about changes the editor wants to make? How do we keep a dialogue going throughout the editing process so the writer doesn’t feel they’re losing…

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[shigayokagayama]

happy one year anniversary to the most insane week in internet history

[muffinlance]

Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

[i-like-forcefem]

Oooo darling~

I just bought the most lovely pair of shoes for you! And I decided that if you promise to be a Good Girl I’ll release your foot constraints and let you walk around in them!

“MmHHHMMmM”

Awwww, that gag never gets old does it? This will be just lovely~

These shoes match you cute little dress and make up better then I dreamed, now raise your cute little foot for me, doll, lets make you even cuter~

[welcometogrouchland]

(on my hands and knees begging tumblr to not mutilate the quality of this drawing 😭) anyway, coming out as a secret marvel fan to announce that i really enjoyed the recently she-hulk run w/ Jen and her boytoy and am sad to see them go. Jack pls dont disappear into the ether i just got attached to you (ID in alt)

[mediapen]

pre-sprint qualifying, spa 2023.

[livesincerely]

One of the last things that gets packed⁠—right up there with the wifi router, the stuff for the bathroom, and Jack’s good pillow⁠—is the calendar. Davey carefully peels it from it’s place of honor on the front of the fridge, almost the whole of April carefully x-ed out. 

“The 29th is on Friday,” he notes as he tucks it carefully away, smiling softly. “We should try and do something.”

“Dave, we are up to our ears in fuckin’ boxes,” Jack complains from his spot on the floor, giving an earnest attempt at becoming one with the carpet. “We ain’t gonna get our deposit back if we ain’t outta here before the first.”

“You were out of town on a contract last year and the year before that we both had the flu,” Davey complains. “It’d be nice if we could actually do something to celebrate.”

It’s at this point that Jack realizes he has no idea what the fuck Davey’s talking about.

“Dave,” he says. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“The 29th,” Davey says, like that alone is enough of an explanation.

“What’s so special about the 29th?” Jack asks.

Davey frowns⁠. And not just his Jack, you dumbass frown, but the full-blown, pinched-mouth, brow-furrowed, Jack, this isn’t funny, stop it frown that makes makes Jack’s heart want to shrivel up and die whenever it’s pointed his way.

So, Jack pivots. Hard.

“I’m kiddin’,” he quickly assures him, pushing himself up on his elbows as his mind races for some kind of solution. “‘Course we can do somethin’. Maybe dinner at that Italian place we saw on the corner? It looked like a nice joint.”

Davey’s expression clears. 

“God, I would kill for some tiramasu,” he says wistfully. 

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Jack laughs, relieved. “I’ll call in the morning, see if they take reservations.”

“Perfect,” Davey says, with a beaming smile that makes Jack’s heart lurch for entirely different reasons. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” Jack says weakly. “It’s a date.”

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

"Boring! I mean, why do I even bother? Ugh, when are we finally going to see a real twist for once?"

-Furina in Overture Teaser: The Final Feast

[saltyfinalboss]

society if tumblr archive had the functions of the mega post editor

[copia]

20 days and we'll see his grabbable waist on the big screen

[artphi]

Pedestal by URI is free play it if you love mystery and toxic yuri

[kyouka-supremacy]

I spent an infinity of time gathering material for this month's theme when I made it, so I'm uploading the folder with everything I got in hope I can make someone else save some! It contains everything I used to make the header and some more vectors (dried flowers, torn consumed paper, scribbles, old photographs and so on), as well as a folder with some fonts. Here's also the header psds in case you'd like to use it as template (1) (2). Enjoy!

[scionshtola]

sweet distraction

summary: On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town. Corisande saves her from ending the night early. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 2.4k | rated: G | read on ao3 notes: a modern day AU of sorts, where Y'shtola is a geologist new to town and Cori is a ranch hand who shows her around. there's a little bit of Hilda/Joye in here because I could not resist [divider credit]

On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town.

“Leave your books and your research in your motel room for one night,” Hilda had said outside Y’shtola’s room only an hour ago, the same thing she’d said to Y’shtola every weekend since Y’shtola had arrived in town a few weeks ago. Y’shtola had shocked them both by agreeing, and then Hilda had shocked her by abandoning her for a pretty young woman, blonde hair divided into two braids over her shoulders, the moment their drinks had arrived. She’d given Y’shtola a shrug and a wave as she followed behind Joye, carrying both their drinks.

She could have left then, could have gone back to her room where her books and her research still waited for her. But something had held her back, something that had her keeping a vaguely interested eye on the crowd as she pushed her straw around her drink. 

Part of her—a small part—had hoped Corisande would be here tonight. Not that Y’shtola thought about them often, but they’d spent the greater part of the last few weeks together, with Corisande escorting Y’shtola around the Haillenarte ranch as she ran her tests on the land. It was only natural that her thoughts might stray now and again toward the ranch hand who had practically become her coworker. It was hardly her fault that ranch hand was six feet tall, with bright green eyes and the most sincere smile Y’shtola had ever seen. That was barely an observation worth noting—a simple declaration of fact.

She pushed thoughts of Corisande from her mind with a sip of a drink. She couldn’t deny there was some kind of connection between them, friendship and understanding forming between them from their very first meeting, when Corisande had shown both interest in and knowledge of Y’shtola’s work as a geologist. But Y’shtola was here for work, and she was not here for long—there was hardly even time for friendship. 

Anything else would only be a distraction.

“Mind if I join you, miss?” a soft voice said, pitched just loud enough to hear over the music. Y’shtola looked up and found herself staring directly into those bright green eyes, that sincere smile directed her way. 

“Oh,” Y’shtola said, unable to keep the note of relief out of her voice. “You’re here.”

Corisande tilted her head. Her long hair, free of its usual braid, fell in burgundy waves over their shoulder, soft pink highlights catching the warm light. “Were you waiting for me?”

Y’shtola shrugged, and tried to recover. “I figured you would show up sooner or later. Everyone else in town seems to be here.”

“There’s not much else to do on a Friday night around here,” Corisande said, with a knowing quirk to their smile that tugged at something in her, though she could not quite decipher what.

That did not bear thinking about. She tore her gaze from their mouth, letting it fall over them on its way back to her drink. Their usual plaid top had been left unbuttoned, the tails tied together in a knot on one side, revealing a low cut black tank top beneath. 

Y’shtola took another sip of her drink, mouth suddenly dry. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, though.” Corisande set her drink on the table, a swirling sunset-colored concoction in a tall glass, and draped her jacket over the back of a chair before sliding into it. “Especially not sitting alone.”

“I was talked into taking a break,” Y’shtola said, tilting her chin to where Hilda sat with Joye, their heads bent close together. “And promptly discarded at the door for another woman.”

Corisande glanced over their shoulder, and a smile played on their lips when they turned back. 

“So you had no choice but to sulk at a table alone all night instead of, I don’t know, dancing,” they teased, gesturing toward the crowd on the dance floor that Y’shtola had kept an eye on all night—just for something to do, certainly not on the lookout for any pink tipped ears standing above the crowd. 

“I’m not sulking. I stayed to finish my drink,” Y’shtola said, swirling her glass in their direction. “Besides, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Corisande rested her chin in the palm of one hand as she sipped her drink, looking at Y’shtola with a glint in her eye that concerned her. There was an embarrassing swoop in Y’shtola’s stomach when Corisande smiled. She ignored it.

“Dance with me,” they said, tilting their head again so that Y’shtola had no choice but to follow the fall of their hair.

It took her a moment to realize what they’d said. She gave a short, incredulous laugh in response. Hadn’t she just said she was not much of a dancer? She opened her mouth to protest, but a voice boomed from the stage before she could speak. 

“Alright folks, you know what time it is! Who’s ready for some good old-fashioned line-dancing?”

Corisande’s lips parted, her eyes growing wide in excitement. She reached across the table and grabbed Y’shtola’s hand, pulling her to her feet and halfway to the dance floor before Y’shtola came to her senses with a shake of her head. 

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, though she could not quite get herself to pull her hand from Corisande’s, their callused fingers warm against hers. 

“As your appointed guide, I can’t in good conscience let you skip out on a line dance,” Corisande answered, reaching to take Y’shtola’s other hand as well. 

“You’re only my guide at the ranch,” Y’shtola said, still not stepping back. 

“Consider this an anthropological extension of your research, then,” Corisande said, squeezing her hands. “You’ll have fun, I promise. We can stand at the back, and if you get lost you can just watch me.”

Their lips curled into a sly grin then. “You look like a quick study.”

Y’shtola did not like the way her heart skipped a beat at their words. Music started up again on stage, and Y’shtola’s protests died in her throat when Corisande moved their hips in time with it. They tugged on her hands with each slow swivel, and Y’shtola could not stop her gaze from following the long line of their legs, from where their dark jeans tucked into their tall brown boots to where they clung tightly to the curve of their ass. 

“Please?” Corisande asked. “Just one song.”

“One song,” Y’shtola relented. Corisande beamed down at her, and Y’shtola could not help but smile back. 

She let herself be pulled into line at the back of the crowd. The dance had already begun, and Corisande fell easily into the steps beside her, while Y’shtola watched the woman leading and did her best to follow the callouts. 

After a moment, Corisande caught her eye, her lips already quirked into the teasing grin Y’shtola was quickly becoming familiar with. “Good, but I know you can give it more than that,” she teased.

Y’shtola kept her eyes carefully away from where Corisande’s fingers framed her silver belt buckle, her hips swaying. Instead she followed the next step, sliding to the left and punctuating it with a quick shuffle and spin, finding her rhythm easily as she picked up the steps. When she met their eyes again, their grin had grown wider. 

“As you said,” Y’shtola said, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m a quick study.”

Corisande’s head tipped back with her laughter, a sweet sound that warmed Y’shtola more than any drink this place could serve. 

When the lines turned and Y’shtola found herself behind Corisande, it was difficult not to watch her. She leaned into each movement, her long wine-colored hair swaying, a carefree ease and rhythm to each step that somehow made Y’shtola more comfortable in her own movements. 

They turned again, facing the front of the bar, and together they clapped and stomped and stepped in place with the others. Y’shtola’s skirt swung and swirled about her knees as she kicked and glided. She slid to the right, just a bit too far, and Corisande caught her with one arm around her shoulders and spun them both around. They leaned in and, just loud enough for her to hear them over the music, said, “I knew you weren’t one to do things halfway.”

Now it was Y’shtola’s turn to laugh, bubbling breathlessly out of her as they released her. The lines turned, and she felt their eyes on her from behind. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and they met her gaze with a warm smile, one that felt inexplicably secret and knowing between them despite the crowd around them. 

They caught each other’s gaze more often than not for the rest of the dance, smiling and laughing as they stepped and clapped. Each glance set off a spark in Y’shtola’s chest, leaving her warm from more than just exertion.

Corisande’s dark blue pickup rolled to a stop outside of the motel. They’d passed the short drive in a companionable kind of quiet, Corisande with one hand on the wheel and Y’shtola watching the night pass by outside the window, settled in the jacket they had slung over her shoulders. Every so often their gazes met across the cab for a moment, until Corisande’s kind smile made Y’shtola’s cheeks heat and she had to turn away. 

Now that they’d arrived outside Y’shtola’s room, she found herself reluctant to end the night so soon. But she supposed there was no use in staving off the inevitable. 

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, forcing herself to unlock the door and reach for the handle, though she did not open it just yet. “And for the dance. I had far more fun than I expected tonight.”

She could just make out Corisande’s gentle smile in the dark. They leaned back and stretched their arm across the back of the seat. “Better than a night spent with your data?”

“Yes,” Y’shtola admitted with a small laugh, and their smile grew. “I think I needed the break—I’ve been so caught up in my work I’ve hardly let myself have one since I got here. It’s good to be reminded every once in a while.”

“Happy to help,” Corisande said, the sincerity of their tone causing an embarrassing flutter in Y’shtola’s chest. Before she could get out of the truck to avoid any further flustering sentiment, Corisande’s eyes darted to the radio, which had been playing at a gentle hum in the background since they’d left the bar. “In fact…”

They shifted toward Y’shtola. She froze, her breath caught in her chest as they leaned in, until they bypassed her in favor of the window crank. Y’shtola watched them roll down her window, and then hop out of the truck and come around to the passenger side. They opened her door and helped her out of the truck with one hand, before ducking back into the truck, leaning across the seat. 

“What are you doing?” Y’shtola asked, watching them. The volume on the radio climbed and a soft, slow song emanated from the truck’s speakers, a woman’s gentle twang carrying toward her. Corisande straightened and faced her, shutting the door behind them, but it wasn’t until Corisande held their hand out, palm up, that she understood what they intended.

“You haven’t had enough dancing?” she teased, but she took their hand. She hesitated a moment, and then rested her other hand on their waist.

They moved closer without pause, putting their arm around her shoulders. “One more dance, before you get back to work.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing any work tonight.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Corisande said, beginning to turn them in small, slow circles.

“Well,” Y’shtola said, a bit sheepishly. She looked up at Corisande, who smiled teasingly down at her. “I may have wanted to go over one set of results—but only one.”

“Of course, only one,” they agreed, in a tone that indicated they definitely did not believe her. “And then another, and another, until it’s four in the morning and you’ve scattered papers all over your room.”

They lifted their arm, leading her into a twirl as she laughed before pulling her back in, somehow closer than before.  

“You may have a point,” Y’shtola said, surprisingly pleased at the way they seemed to know her so well already. Corisande only hummed, and they fell back into the same comfortable silence they’d had in the truck. Y’shtola found herself leaning in, her head resting on their chest as they turned. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt this relaxed, but nothing came to mind. And yet it hardly seemed strange at all that she should find some kind of peace in their arms, a sweet distraction from her duties here, though she had only known them a few weeks. 

When the song ended, Corisande stopped turning them. They held Y’shtola for a moment longer, and then released her, stepping back. The cold night air rushed into the space between them, making her shiver.

“I suppose I will see you Monday,” Y’shtola said. It suddenly seemed an eternity between now and then, though in reality it was only a few days.

“I suppose so,” Corisande said, her smile small but warm. She squeezed Y’shtola’s hand before letting go. “If you need a break before then, you know where to find me.”

“The ranch? Or line-dancing at the bar?” Y’shtola teased, pleased when she was rewarded with Corisande’s laugh as they turned away, heading for the other side of the truck.

“Definitely line-dancing,” they called as they climbed into the truck, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio.

Y’shtola got the feeling that Corisande would not drive away until she was inside her room, so she bid them goodnight and went inside. It wasn’t until their headlights had completely disappeared that she realized she was still wearing their jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it close for a moment, letting the peppery scent that lingered on it take her back to the moment Corisande had held her close, her head against their chest as they spun. 

She shook her head clear of the memory, slipping the jacket off and hanging it over the back of a chair. Though she had planned to do some work, it seemed it would be a largely useless endeavor with the way her thoughts kept drifting toward Corisande.

Instead she readied herself for bed, and fell asleep to thoughts of Corisande’s hand in hers, and the sweet sound of their laugh. 

[tardis--dreams]

There's been interesting developments at work and i need to do a lot of work for university so i think tonight is the Perfect time to finish beyond evil

[marnz]

reading the new Tana French novel via audiobook and just sort of like :/ :/ thinking about the tight, propulsive plotting of her earlier novels…I’m 20% in and while the plot did land quite early compared to like, the witch elm, I’m not getting that gorgeous eerie feeling I got from In the Woods or The Likeness. Ugh! I’m in such a reading slump for books rn and I can’t decide if it’s because I’m not vibing with anything I’m reading or if it’s because my brain has suddenly developed a preference for a physical book as obsessed to an ebook or audiobook. I did recently read A Country of Ghosts via my tried and true method of ‘multiple hours of uninterrupted reading time in the bath without my phone and with a print book’ so clearly it is possible but, to give you an example of how powerful my book slump has been, I got to like 85%-90% of The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo and was basically like “well. whatever.” and never finished it. That was fully a month ago :(

has anyone recently read anything that rocked their world? please advise.