#the left behind

[immawritethat]

Me, for very many years: Yeah, I like, might be autistic but I don’t know!

The main character of my novel, who I modeled after what I referred to as “the worst parts of myself”:

You know, just totally not full of anxiety and sensory issues and uncertainty of what to do in a public space surrounded by strangers!

[shewasashowgirl]

Blowhole and Doris human headcanon!

Because the response to my Francis and Doris human backstory headcanon has been so positive, I’ve detailed the whole thing under the cut :D

Francis was born with a severe deformity across the right side of his face (think The Phantom of the Opera). Doris was born when he was about four, and their parents pass a couple weeks later. Because they have no relatives to take them in, they spend a few years in an orphanage. One day, the manager of a traveling circus visits. He sees value in Francis’ deformity and adopts him. It’s only because of Francis’ pleading that the man takes Doris, too.

Francis and Doris spend the rest of their childhoods with the circus. Francis is advertised as a human oddity and treated like an animal. He’s forced to perform humiliating tricks for cruel audiences, such as leaping through hoops and singing. He spends his (very little) free time watching the circus’ engineers, who build flashy contraptions for the act. He asks them questions, and sometimes they get close enough to show him how everything works. He dreams of building something that can destroy everyone who’s ever hurt him...

Doris does okay with the circus. The other performers dote over her, and when she gets old enough, she performs with them. She fights to protect Francis, but it’s never enough. At night, they curl up beside each other and talk about what they want to do when they leave the circus.

No matter what, they promise, they’ll always stay together.

When Francis turns eighteen and is no longer legally dependent on the circus’ manager, he leaves, promising to come back for Doris when she turns eighteen, too. He doesn’t. Years pass. Doris realizes that she’s never going to hear from Francis again and leaves the circus alone. She gets an apartment in Manhattan and meets a sweet guy named Kowalski who helps her get onto her feet. When she hears reports of an elusive criminal going by the alias “Dr. Blowhole,” she doesn’t bat an eye...

...Until she gets an anonymous letter instructing her to go to Coney Island. When she does, she’s greeted by Francis, wearing a mechanical mask that hides his facial deformity. He’s been working throughout the years to create weapons of mass destruction, he tells her, and has come up with a plan to take down the entertainment industry, and all he needs is her help and they can have everything they’ve ever dreamed of, and come with me, sis, I’ll show you my secret lab--!

No. Horrified, she refuses. She’s made peace with the past; why can’t he do the same? And they both realize right then and there that the little kids who they used to be are gone.

They part. Years pass. Doris works hard and builds a good life for herself, but something twists in her heart every time Dr. Blowhole is mentioned on the news. Despite her disgust, she knows that she still loves him. She knows that she would do anything for him.

Because once upon a time, it was them against the world.

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Friday Night Fights: 04/24

Meghan Harbinger blew a short breath up at the curls above her eye, forcing herself to keep from fidgeting as she waited at the empty table in the small, square room alone. It wasn’t the room that made her uncomfortable—she’d been called into them from time to time, to corroborate another operative’s report, or clarify some unintelligible penmanship, and sometimes she just popped in to bother Alejandro if things weren’t too serious. He was always so busy now, and sure, so was she, and she was glad to spend more time with her brother, but she had certainly not wanted it like this.

Alejandro’s hair was unbrushed, still tangled from sleep, hanging well past his shoulders, and a hard, thin line made up his mouth. Meghan tried to hide her embarrassment behind a bright smile as he sat at the table across from her. Her heart thumped but she muffled it behind her feigned cheer.

“Well good morning, Ale! Did you get much sleep?” She greeted, hoping he would let her babble on the way he usually did.

“It’s three in the morning.”

Meghan’s bright smile glitched to dark. “Oh. So that’s a no then? You know, I’ve heard that eating almonds can help with—”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Meghan winced against the cut in his words. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d really been mad at her. Then again, she couldn’t have remembered the last time she had done something this stupid.

“Well, you see, you’re under the assumption that I was thinking, which is pretty bold, if you ask me.” She turned her gaze to the table rather than Alejandro’s face. It was still pretty bad feeling the weight of his gaze, but it was far preferred to looking him in the eye and admitting that she put the entire organization at risk on a good feeling.

Alejandro stayed silent for a moment. She hated this part the most—the way he contemplated exactly what to say, so that you couldn’t just get into a screaming match and get defensive and dive around responsibility because he shouldn’t have yelled at her. But no. The silence. The careful thought that he definitely didn’t manage to get to stick in her head.

“Meghan Emmaline, eyes up.” She lifted her gaze off the plastic and a face filled with more concern than anger. She swore she saw crow’s feet beginning to flock around his eyes. “You’re going to make me go gray by twenty-five.”

Meghan slumped in her seat with a sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need me to tell you that you put every single person here at risk. You were only supposed to be gone for forty-eight hours to search for recruits. Not only did you come back empty handed, but you come back a day and a half late, and you’re lucky as hell your uncle found a way to tell me that much ahead of time or I would have had Risa strip you of your position on that alone.” Meghan swallowed back a comment, and instead nodded. “You know all of that. I’m going to ask you as your brother and your superior officer: Why did you tell that girl exactly where to find us? After she had expressed disinterest.”

Meghan licked her lips, considering her words carefully for once. She couldn’t honestly think of a clear answer. It had felt right. She had wanted to give Natalia the chance she refused to believe she had. She wasn’t thinking. She was stubborn. Something. Anything.

Meghan folded her hands on the table in front of her and straightened her back. “Ale, I just…I didn’t want to leave her there. I’ve talked to her for a while. She helps Vic and Suzu, so I got closer than I should’ve before she even popped up on our lists,” she admitted. “She’s a good person, and she needs help, and she’s written herself off. I just…I don’t know. I can’t force her here. That’s against what we stand for, so I thought…I guess I was hoping she’d change her mind.”

Alejandro leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a short nod. He stayed quiet for a few heartbeats before unfolded his arms.

“As of now, you have been suspended from recruitment indefinitely.” Meghan’s heart fell towards her lower intestines. “Probation or reversal is up to the commander’s discretion. She loves you, but she isn’t going to compromise our mission for you. She did, however, grant me some decision in any further punitive action, including and up to the loss of your position with the active troops.” He paused for a moment. “I will discuss a lighter sentence with Risa based on what you’ve told me.”

Meghan felt the tension in her body pop, and she deflated back into her seat.

“Thank you so much, Ale, you have no idea—”

“Show me your appreciation by doing better,” he cut in, the sharpness returning to his gaze. “You’re too rash, and you act on your emotions too often. Righteousness is squandered by passion. You could get yourself hurt one of these days, or someone else. You don’t want to live with that. Now, get to bed, Miss Harbinger. You’re likely going to find yourself quite busy around here.”

Meghan gave a sheepish nod and a playful salute that she wouldn’t have gotten away with had it been anyone else. “Yessir, Mr. Santiago, sir.”

[liesandnights]

To lovely humans who were excluded from invitations, left behind when they tied their shoes, forced to walk in the grass when the sidewalk was full, spoken over when you tried to contribute, whispered about or laughed at, given side-eye when you tried to fit in.... you are so worthy of love.

[pigcatapult]

A kind person whose social justice vocabulary is outdated or inadequate for the concepts they’re trying to communicate is a better person than anyone who’d rip them down as a bigot for not keeping up with the euphemism treadmill. Morality is measured by how you treat people, not how well you’ve memorized a continuously evolving set of shibboleths.

[glitterghost]

Being ace can be pretty isolating at various times, for varying reasons that I don't feel like I have to explain because if you are ace, you probably get it.

[urbanqhoul]

CONSIDER- Au where Sundrop goes looking for Freddy and Gregory after they escape

[annansmith]

[immawritethat]

What's this?? Me actually finishing a chapter of my novel for the first time in months because of a tarot reading and realization that I'm sinking hours into another fixation and will be stuck in retail forever if I don't do anything about it??

[shewasashowgirl]

Kiss~

Send a word and I’ll see if it’s in my WIP documents!

But I had never actually told him that I loved him. Telling him now felt like tipetoeing over a line that I shouldn’t have crossed. It felt the same way that kissing him on the cheek and holding his hand at Uncle Manfredi’s funeral had felt.

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Aaaaaand three years later...

Hello friends! This morning I discovered that three years have already passed from the first time I completed a draft of my major WIP, The Left Behind.

(Look! Evidence! Social media is occasionally good for something! And, yes, I do tragically still use Facebook)

I’m a bit shocked it’s both already and only been three years. I’ve grown incredibly as a writer in the meantime. I’ve also barely begun on the third draft at this point. So, I thought that it just might be nice to put a little something of self-reflection and a note of the journey so far. Maybe because it might help some of you guys to see how I do things (although I don’t fully recommend following my process) and also to be able to remember in the future what the hell I actually did once the memories are inevitably blurred. I’ll, of course, put all that babbling under this lovely little read more so I don’t consume your dash!

Alrighty! So, draft one:

Armed with a few pages of scattered half-development over the series of a few years, I had very little plan. I’d spent a majority of my recent writing producing fanfiction, primarily one-shots, and had never completed more than three, maybe four full chapters in one piece. To say a full novel seemed out of my reach was an overstatement. I’d tried to write The Left Behind once or twice before, and had set it aside for a number of reasons; it felt dry and cliched, stiff and melodramatic (and of course it did! I was all of thirteen when I’d dreamt it up, and most of the media I consumed and adored was edgy and over the top and coarse, but for some reason when it was my creation, it was stale). On a quick bit of passion and a late New Year’s Resolution, I set about to take another crack at it.

I changed the opening scene for what must have been the third or fourth time, finally willing to allow myself to part from previous conceptions of what I had to include, because it had been in my original plans. Realizing I didn’t have to be trapped by my past ideas was refreshing; this was one of the major things I learned through this draft, one I still remind myself to make peace with often.

I nearly quit after the fourth chapter, because I didn’t like the way it was going and I felt frustrated with where it was going. After complaining to a few family members (also recreational writers), I was able to digest a piece of advice I’d heard over and over; don’t edit until you’re done. This doesn’t work for everyone, but it let me write without being hung up on my story. It let me change my mind mid-draft and simply write with the change as though it had never occurred, simply leaving a consistency to repair for the next draft. Or, as I like to always say “It’s a problem for Later Me.”

Draft one took me roughly nineteen months to complete. It was an astounding feeling. The story was bare, inconsistent, and totaled 50,000 words and change. But it was amazing. It still is amazing, really. I managed to write most of it between classes, often in 200 to 500 word bursts.

I didn’t really get back to working on The Left Behind again for another five or six months.

Which leads us into draft two:

To be frank, I consider draft one an extended outline...especially considering that I simply never finished an outline. My “outline” is more of a semi-organized word/idea vomit, and sheet of story related jargon. My intention for draft two was to bulk the story up, establish more consistency, and polish my style, themes, and plot.  Having already managed one draft, I assumed that a second one would be a quick endeavor; surely, I only really took so long because I was learning! Right?

Wrong.

One of the major things I learned in draft two is an unshakable truth: I’m never going to be the writer who churns out thousands of words in one sitting. I charted my word count every single day during draft two, and there were probably no more than 10 days where I wrote over 1000 words in general, let alone in The Left Behind. I agonized over it for a bit, but I’m pretty much over it by now. I carefully craft my words, so of course it’ll take long. It’s like a tapestry, a long, intricate work that needs time to do right.

Of course, I’d be a liar if I said draft two isn’t riddled with flaws.

But it is so much better. The overall writing style finally felt like a decent balance between internal monologue and imagery and storytelling. Some of the lines I wrote are truly beautiful and powerful and inspiring. I read it back and there are only a few scenes or moments or phrases that I find disengaging and lame.

Draft two took me twenty-two months to complete, and clocked in at over one hundred thousand words. It also made me feel some incredible euphoria for months straight when I truly hit my stride, which, naturally, led to an aching burnout once I forced myself to take a break from it.

I’m frankly still recovering from it, and from the depressive spell I had in the meantime. I can’t properly determine how much time passed between drafts, because I kept attempting to pick up draft three and failing to do much actual work.

Which brings us around to draft three:

Draft three is in progress. I’ve figured out my best method for re-outlining: an in-depth re-read of the previous draft, a variety of notes per chapter, a collective overall list of desires for the next draft, and a lot of index cards to scribble plot points on, so as to better move around and reorganize and remove them. (I’ll be making a larger post about this eventually! Just going to give myself more time to get further acquainted with editing and all first)

I’m learning how to edit. I’m starting to understand that my major problem with editing and outlines is the visual clutter of it all, and I’m working around it. I’m loving polishing words and themes and characters. I was primarily going to focus on cutting my word count a good deal, but I’ve decided to throw that out the window in favor of making a great story. As it turns out, my prior draft’s word count is actually even a bit short as many similar novels go, which brings me comfort!

I left the story alone for too long, and returning to it is a breath of fresh air. It truly feels like part of my soul is back. I don’t know if it’s because my depression is getting better, or if my depression is getting better because of it. Either way, I’m glad. And I’m excited. I can’t wait more than anything to share with you guys that the work is complete and ready to be published. I can’t wait to mark my calendar, to finally say that I’ve did it and to keep doing it. (It’s a four book series, so there’s not an option of giving up anyhow aha!)

So it’s been three years. I’ve learned a done a lot. Some writers may have done much more in that time. Many have done less. That’s okay with me. I really, truly believe that The Left Behind is something big, something breathtaking. Hopefully it won’t take too many more years to be able to prove it to you all.

[ccerealbowl]

•••

Left behind...

[bleedingpomegranate]

there is this horror at being left behind

starting line, luke hemmings / fleabag (2016-2019); s1e6 "episode #1.6" / working for the knife, mitski / x / it chooses you, miranda july / ryan o'connell / x / via flickr / aristos the musical / x / the hours, michael cunningham

[idanit]

where's the Doctor?

[riconastyfan]

[littledashdraws]

soleil, daughter of azura