#why are you beefing with pixels... that you wrote!!

[loraculis]

i think a bunch of the problems in the dragon age serie comes from the writers failing at the first step of writing a character focused narrative; hating your characters

[twelves-writings]

Sleep

Songfic based off “Sleep” by My Chemical Romance

(tw: suffocation, passing out)

They’re, they’re these terrors

And it feels as if someone was gripping my-

They’re, they’re not like tremors; they’re worse than tremors

They’re these ter-

Doc combed through the footage. There had to have been something there, anything. There was a reason for everything, across every world. Cause and effect. He knew correlation didn’t imply causation, but… there had to be something. He couldn’t've just… 

Doc sighed. He rewinded the video again, staring at the screen as he had for the past… How long has it been? Doc didn’t care. He scoured the footage, analyzing every pixel until his biological eye went numb. He didn’t care at what cost it came to him. There had be a sign, a message, a hint at what was to come. 

A voice nagged at the back of his head, telling him he need to rest. Don’t overwork yourself. Take a break. Go get something to eat. He would’ve wanted you to rest. 

Doc shook his head, erasing the thoughts from his head. There was no telling what he would have wanted. He was gone, and Doc was determined to get him back.

-~-

Another block of blackstone here, slab, block, redstone block… Wait, no; the redstone block goes over there. Or maybe… Beef rubbed his eyes, yawning as he picked up the offending block. It was getting late, the moon was nearly peaked, but he had to keep building. He just wanted to finish one more building in Three Fox Hole, then he would rest. Ah, that’s where the redstone block goes! And then the glass, and the other color of glass, and the other other color… 

Block after block was placed. Not much thought went into the details, but he’d do those later. He was always better at detailing the buildings in the morning. “Oh wait, Keralis is coming over tomorrow. Oh well; I guess I’ll finish them in the afternoon.” 

Beef was always glad to see his friends. He was hesitant about reaching out, about coming back, but Etho convinced him in the end. It was strange, Etho reassuring him when he refused to return to the server himself. Oh, Beef missed him. That was Etho’s choice, though, and Beef couldn’t and wouldn’t force anything upon him. With or without his old buddy, Beef was glad to be back on Hermitcraft. Especially after…

Beef kept building. Blackstone block, block, stair, polished block, glass, polished slab. The city was coming along nicely. Planning out the roads and buildings, filling them all in, and detailing them was all quite relaxing. It was the perfect way to start a new season. Beef stepped back from the building after placing the final slab. He was proud of himself. 

He wouldn’t be proud. 

“Yes he would,” he responded to his thoughts aloud. “Of course he would. I’m creating and detailing buildings. He loved that. He’d be proud.” 

They’re facades, fronts, empty shells. 

“I’ll fill them in eventually.” 

Fill yourself in first. 

Beef squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh. Knowing he wouldn’t win to his thoughts tonight, he kept building. 

Rest. 

There were always other buildings to work on. 

Rest. 

Details needed to be added. 

Rest. 

Mobs that could bring this city to life. 

Rest.

Beef began work on yet another building. He could’ve sworn he heard whispers from behind him, but wrote it off as phantoms, or his insomnia getting to him. “Alright.” He walked away from the build, having run out of blackstone. “I need to get some more- Oomph!” He had run into a street lamp as he turned around. As he looked up, he realized it wasn’t a light on the street, nor a creature of the night come to attack him.

“No, no, no.” Eyes wide as the moon, he stumbled away from the figure. “I- I can’t deal with this again! You’re not real! You can’t be! I- I can’t do this again.” He backed into a wall, sliding onto the ground. Tears welled in Beef’s eyes as he gazed upon the figure. 

Green wrapped around its entire frame, weaving around its torso and limbs. Its face was mostly free of the vines, bar its straggly hair. Its eyes were darker than the void, oozing jet black tears. Beef’s eyes were locked with the figure’s, fear flooding every ounce of his being. When he was finally able to pull away from the unmoving, unblinking voids, his gaze landed on the being’s shirt. His breathing and pulse accelerated as he read the letters: NHO. He timidly brought his eyes back back up. “B- Bdu-”

Don’t you breathe for me

Undeserving of your sympathy

The air was pulled out of Beef’s lungs, leaving him gasping. He clawed at his throat, eyes somehow widening more. He choked, breathing without air to breathe. How is he- Why is he- Beef couldn’t think straight. How could he, unable to breathe because the ghost of his friend yanked the air out of his lungs? 

‘Cause there ain’t no way that I’m sorry for what I did

Tears were spilling from Beef’s eyes; out of fear or sadness, he didn’t know.

And through it all, how could you cry for me?

‘Cause I don’t feel bad about it

Beef wanted to scream. He wanted to tell the phantom all his thoughts. He wanted to tell him how he still cared, how he remembered him, how he’d never let go of him or the memories they shared.

So shut your eyes

No, no! Beef felt the unconsciousness pulling at his eyelids, dragging him down. Beef didn’t want to let go! He couldn’t let go! He could never let go! 

And sleep

Just sleep

The voice reverberated through his brain, overwhelming any thoughts Beef had. It surrounded and enveloped him, echoing through the emptiness inside. He was hollow. He had been, ever since that day. The tears stopped flowing as darkness crept towards him. Eyes flickering, Beef relaxed. The voice echoed one final cry, more to itself than anything else.

The hardest part

Is letting go of your dreams

He’d just rest a bit. Just for a minute. Just for… 

-~-

They’re, they’re these terrors

And it feels as if someone was gripping my throat, and squeezing

They’re, they’re not like tremors; they’re worse than tremors

They’re these terrors

Rewinding the footage again, Doc sighs. He’s getting nowhere with this, but he has to keep going. He would have wanted him to keep going, keep searching for an explanation. He goes over the clip again, subconsciously mouthing the words. He’s heard this so many times, seen this so many times, too many times… He jolts up with a start, his eyes sleepy but wide. He has to stay awake. He has to know what happened. Just a few more minutes.

His stomach growls, like a hoglin that hasn’t been fed in days. When was the last time he ate? That didn’t matter. All that mattered to Doc is answers. Rest and food are for the weak anyways. When was the last time anyone had seen a creeper eat?

Vwoosh

It was a near silent noise, but Doc caught it. He whipped around, sword in hand, ready to face the enderman who dared to interrupt his work. But he didn’t see an enderman. Far from it; he saw a figure leaning again a cluttered table in the corner of the room. A wine glass was held in its hand, and for a moment Doc suspected it to be Joe, bringing him a glass from the winery next door. However, the glass was empty. 

A drink

For the horror that I’m in

Doc took a moment to look the creature over. Its skin was like his own, rough and plant-like. Was that actually its skin, or a thick layer of foliage covering it? Its eyes and head were hidden in the shadows, except for its half-open mouth lined with teeth sharp as blades. What the heck is this thing?

For the good guys and the bad guys

For the monsters that I’ve been

Three cheers for tyranny

It hoisted up its glass, acting as if a toast were to be given. Instead, it tossed the glass in the air. Doc was frozen in place out of fear or exhaustion; it was difficult to tell which. He only moved to flinch when the glass shattered on the ground. It sounded as if a million glasses had broken, not just the one. The figure did not react.

‘Cause there ain’t no way that I’m coming back again

The words burned themselves in Doc’s mind. He knew instantly what- who the creature was. Or rather, what the creature used to be. He shook it off, dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. It liked to do that on late nights like these. Before he could turn around to get back to his work, the figure grabbed him by the shoulder. The two were face to face now, mere inches apart. Its dark, empty eyes stared straight into Doc’s soul. The teeth were far more menacing now, softly clinking with every word spoken. Doc didn’t want to admit it, to himself or the beast, but he was terrified. The voice cried:

And through it all, how could you cry for me?

‘Cause I don’t feel bad about it

It took its hands off Doc’s shoulders, pushing him back against the desk.

So shut your eyes

Kiss me goodbye

And sleep

Just sleep

Doc whipped back around, forcing his eyes back upon his work. One of the monitors was cracked, but he didn’t care. He cared about nothing but the tapes. He blinked hard, pushing back any tears that threatened to spill. He ignored the creature’s- the ghost’s cries behind him. 

The hardest part’s

The awful things that I’ve seen

He ignored it all, pinning his eyes to the screens. He was so close; he could feel it. Just another couple of minutes and he’d have it. He’d know why Bdubs died. 

Sometimes, I see flames

And sometimes I see people that I love dying

It’s always-

Just sleep

The creature whispered. He ignored it.

Just sleep

It called to him, like a siren out at sea. He ignored it.

JUST SLEEP!

It screamed. Doc whipped around to see the figure levitating off the ground. Wind from nowhere spun around it, papers and small objects being pulled into the gusts. The being’s eyes shone black, somehow emitting light while being dark as black holes. 

Doc couldn’t take his eyes off the figure, and couldn’t deny its appearance any longer: it looked like- no, it was Bdubs. Doc saw the bandana, ripped and stained a blood-like green, flapping in the wind. Its hair was swooped in the front, blown up off its face. The logo on its shirt was unmistakable, even through the vines that spread across its chest. It screamed again and again for Doc to sleep. 

Eventually, its voice went hoarse. As the cries faded into echos, the wind slowed. Doc was swaying on his feet as it stopped, collapsing onto the ground. His eyes flickered, but no! He had to hold out. He had to stay awake. 

The figure- Bdubs’ feet gracefully touched the ground. Bdubs made his way over to the nearly unconscious Doc. Doc wanted to reach out to him, say something, anything. But he couldn’t. He… he needed to rest. He needed some sleep. 

The tapes were playing quietly as Doc drifted off. 

And I can’t… I cant ever wake up.

[leah-halliwell92]

Romanian Rhapsody

Summary: Almost two years before Dracula awakens, Dr. May Van Helsing is abroad gathering her own information on the legendary vampire. Years have passed since Jonathan Harker’s visit to what should be the ruins of Castle Dracula. Years since the village people have spoken or even warned anyone away from it. What will May find the deeper she digs into the Count’s home?

Previously: 

May shrugged not knowing what to think, “I don’t know and right now I don’t have time to worry I’ve to undo what she and her team have done to my domain.”

Sam and Raven shared a look but understood where she’s coming from so let her be. It had been two years so there are things that need to be put to rights.

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4

Chapter 5

A couple of days later, May found herself breathing a sigh of relief as she slumped backwards on her chair. Because she’d finally managed to get all the records and files in order, the physical files were all in their respective homes, the more sensitive ones have been put back in their locked cabinet, for these she made a note to change the locks and keep the spare key close. 

Raven and Sam had been running themselves ragged along with her when it came to not only organizing the archives room but also the area in general. Just as lunch rolled around, Sam and Raven walked in take away bags in hand. 

“I know you don’t condone eating real food in here but I’m in no mood to deal with the likes of one Dr. Jack Seward today,” Sam said as she took a seat in one of the spare chairs in May’s office.

“What did he do this time?” May asked as she picked up the containers that were respectively filled with wonton soup, white rice, stir fried vegetables and Mongolian beef. Luckily the trio likes the same Chinese food, sharing between them is no issue.

“You know that girl from accounting?” Sam asked with a hum. 

Raven and May nodded at this as they began to eat. 

“The little bugger decided to bad mouth me in front of her and now she refuses to go out with me,” Sam seethed as she too served herself a plate. 

The trio sighed heavily at this. 

Jack seemed to make it his life mission to drive them mad whenever they don’t do as he orders them to. He had Zoe around his finger, Bloxham is cow that has her own agenda, and the rest of the foundation bar a select few follow his lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world all because of what she and her friends do for and in the foundation. 

“Why the hell did I decide it was a good idea to have a crush on him?” May groaned. 

“Because at first glance he is smart, looks to be sensitive, is cute and so happens to work where you work,” Sam listed off nonchalantly. 

Raven nodded agreeing with Sam’s list before saying, “And then he let his colors show, saw an in to the archives through the crush you have for him and abused that thinking he could get away with it.”

“Which lead to me leaving for two years to move my delusional ass on from this pointless crush,” May said with a shake of her head at her own naivety. 

“Don’t,” Sam said voice firm.

“What,” May said with brows raised. 

“It’s not naive to hope,” Sam said still firm, “It’s not naive to want to have something good in your life and it’s not naive to hope to find it where you work...i.e where you spend most of your time as it is.”

May nodded numbly taking in what her friend had said. Sam’s right, to be naive is one thing and to be hopeful is another, it irked her some to see she still needed to learn the difference between the two. 

The trio continued to eat in silence enjoying the when Raven groaned nearly spilling her food as she did. 

“What?” Sam asked curiously. 

“Did you both forget what today is?” Raven asked incredulously. 

May and Sam exchanged puzzled look the latter giving their friend a shrug. 

“Its Valentines Day weekend,” she said still shocked that she’d forgotten. 

May groaned loudly as Sam looked like she at the canary. 

“Zoe’s probably not going to be here for too long,” Sam said knowingly. 

“The foundation will pretty much be empty bar the stupidly thin skeleton crew,” May added with a nod.

“And I need to get Eva something,” Raven said with a sigh. 

“Hey do you still have that coupon I gave you for that place down the street from me?” Sam asked as if she’d gotten the best idea of the year. 

Raven nodded with a blush.

“Let’s go and see what they have then,” she said with a wiggle of her brows, “You’ve been whining about not having a proper toy to have with your wife for ages. Maybe it’s time for that dream to come true.”

May laughed at the look on Raven’s face and said, “Come on Rae, you know she’s right.”

Raven huffed a laugh and nodded along with her friends. 

The day progressed with a buzz that hadn’t been there before for May. It now carried with it an energy she wished she could ignore. Alas, she’d do as she’d always done and keep moving forward. 

She was on her last break of the day when Sam sent her a text that both Jack and Zoe had been to the archive and taken with them a couple of files each to the cage floor. A welcomed and appreciated heads up from Sam May had to say. That’s how the dance went between Zoe, Jack and her. Avoidance is the best factor, or so they have said. 

She went to her office her break no over to see which files were missing. She rolled here eyes at the selection and wrote them down on a sticky note to take up with her when it was her turn to grind the midnight oil. May didn’t like working nights, she hated it, but it beat seeing the lust sick fools on the streets trying to flirt their way into her bed. No matter how many times Sam has sad a one night stand is not bad idea depending on one’s mood. 

May spend the rest of the afternoon compiling the pieces she’d gathered from her study of Castle Dracula to be added to the already existing file originally put together from what the late Mr. Harker had told the nuns at the monastery. She’d found she had to correct somethings here and there but most of the stuff already on file fit the information she’d gathered. She’d thought about giving Zoe their great-grandmother’s notes and diaries but decided against it. Because as much as she wanted to blame her death on Dracula, she felt there was more to this than what they’d been led to believe. 

Jack had been down here and there trying to charm files out of her. Having had enough she’d rejected his advances and demanded he go through the proper channels to gain access to the files he was requesting. The pinched look on his face told her enough. But like hell would she be cowed because he didn’t like it when people told him no. 

“Don’t you need a slice of humble pie,” Sam said as she sauntered in looking more than ready to leave the foundation for the night, “Zoe sent me to tell you she’s looking for you.”

Jack seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to Percy Weasley with how he glared at Sam but did as bid and left.

“You sure you want to stay?” She asked May once Jack was out of earshot. 

May nodded and said, “Better here than out there. Stupid prick wants to use my crush for him to get what he wants when Lucy is doing just that.”

“Except unlike Lucy, you won’t spread your legs for just anyone,” Sam said knowingly. 

May grinned at that and nodded. 

“Seriously though, are you sure? I could cancel and we can have a night laughing at violent slasher movies?” Sam said worried for her best friend. 

“Don’t worry about me Sam,” May reassured, “Better here where there is quiet than out there. Plus if Zoe needs me I’ll already be here so I won't have her nagging about not doing my work.”

Sam nodded not convinced but let things be. She bid May good night and made her way to the elevator to head home. She saw Zoe and Jack talking quietly to each other on her way out. 

“She needs to do as she is ordered,” she heard Jack say derogatorily, “She’s a pencil pusher there to give us the files we need and put them back.”

“She’s more than that Jack–”

“No Zoe don't give me that,” he snapped, “You don't even believe that yourself and you know it. She’s nothing but a glorified secretary.”

Sam stopped at that and turned to face the couple. 

Zoe caught the heated look Sam was sending them and at least had the decency to look ashamed. 

“She’s your sister,” Sam said voice ice cold, “You’re supposed to defender against pricks like this like she's done for you on so many other occasions. Do you really doubt her so much that you’d fail her in this manner?”

Zoe paled at this knowing Sam is right before finding a certain spot on her shoes very interesting all of the sudden. 

“And you,” she said looking to a now nervous Jack, “What’s the matter? Can’t have the one you want so you bully the one that’s had it for you since we began working here? How much more cowardly can you get?”

Turning back to Zoe she said, “You know it’s times like this when I realize that even Ted Bundy would have been a good bloke to date for your sister compared to this clown, good night.”

00//00//00

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[technicolorfamiliar]

The Artist vs Social Media

I have been sharing my feelings about art and its ever-growing relationship to social media with a number of people recently. I wrote a bit about it here some months ago, but that was primarily focused on reactions to different types of art I was posting on different platforms. Without a doubt, it’s been something that’s given me pause for a while, and I have a suspicion I can’t be the only person that feels this way.

To be clear: this is not meant to be an attack on the people who enjoy and excel at being a creative on social media. It is purely an expression of my own frustration, a cry out to others who have struggled with the same issues, because I know I’m not alone.

First of all, my personal style just doesn’t compliment a successful social media presence, I’m such a fan of the long-format, in general. I don’t want anything in my life to be bite-sized, cropped, or condensed. I struggle to convey the concepts teeming in my heart in a limited number of characters and pixels. As I am evolving as an artist, I enjoy incorporating many layers of meaning, drawing on a multitude of sources for inspiration. Social media, for the most part, wants to condense, compartmentalize, limit. It’s short-format, lacks fluidity, and promotes shorter attention spans. It feels counterintuitive to the kind of art I love and the art I want to be making.

For as streamlined and easy as social media has made sharing artwork with the great big world out there, it’s also birthed a lot of additional anxiety and despair. At least that’s been my experience. Some people have taken to social media like ducks to water, they are thriving in an endless stream of posts and pictures and stories. But this particular artmaker finds the rise of social media more like an impossible mountain, and climbing it is a requirement.

I envy the artists and makers who have figured out how to hack social media in order to promote their work and their brand. These people make it look easy, like social media integration with one’s art practice is as simple as breathing. I understand how it is crucial now as any kind of artist to have a big social media presence. But despite that understanding, I still have a lot of issues with it.

I was in art school in the still relatively early days of Instagram. Facebook and Twitter were big, but I didn’t really ever get too deeply involved in either platform. For me, Facebook was mostly for staying in touch with friends and family back home. I didn’t even have a smart phone until some time after I graduated. The school I attended encouraged us to build a website, get a business card, but there was no way to prepare us for the expansion of these apps among others that would emerge later on. This is not a sorry attempt at an excuse for my complicated relationship with social media, because there are a lot of artists in their early 30s right now who are very clearly doing well in that arena.

Circa 2009 – 2011, using social media for networking was beginning to be a real thing to consider. Having a Facebook page and separate Instagram and Twitter accounts devoted to your craft in addition to your website and blog in order to reach all possible professional connections was increasingly important. And now, they are all absolutely essential. People think you must be kidding yourself if you’re making art and don’t have a social media presence. I’ve caught myself being judgmental of young artists who aren’t on social media. But then I’m reminded of my own issues with Facebook and Instagram and all the others and I think maybe I should shut my mouth.

—

That’s the background. The real thing I’m trying to say is this:

Social media is exhausting.

I hate it.

For all the good content being generated and shared on FB, IG, etc there are a thousand mentally and emotionally draining posts being shared by people who, by and large, aren’t on social media to promote their craft. And that’s fine, people should have a place to vent their frustrations, laugh at funny or un-funny memes, share recipes and cute animal videos, get 100+ validating reactions to their photos, post thoughts/criticisms/ideas too long for Twitter but too short for a blog…

But to expect an artist generating original content to compete with everything else being blasted on every social media platform is complete and utter unrealistic nonsense.

—

My big, huge, major beef with social media is the totally insane decision to stop having posts featured in chronological order on pretty much every major platform. This really hurts creative people who are trying to get exposure, share their work to the world (or at least their friends and followers), and requires them to generate even more content, or share the same post over and over again in the hopes that their painting or photo or video somehow makes it over all the other posts from everybody else that are only just so much noise. Trying to get noticed or share your work with likeminded creatives you don’t already know is like shouting in a canyon full of other people shouting, drowned out by all the other voices and the echoes of the voices.

But that’s not the only thing about social media that keeps me up at night.

There are people on social media who have become experts in making their lives look like perfect, magical journeys of self discovery and growth and good fortune. Seeing their perfectly composed, perfectly lit photos of what is supposedly their daily lives, their brunches, their cocktails, their pets, their clothes, their travels, their significant others, and whatever else makes me want to not even try. Why should I even bother to try to compete with that? Looking at those kinds of posts immediately makes me feel inferior because 1) I’m not living that theoretically beautiful, charmed life, and 2) I’m not generating masses of content like that of my own experience. I look at my weird little life and there’s hardly anything photo- or post-worthy, at least not on a daily basis, not enough to get above everyone else’s noise. When did having a social media presence become an art form in and of itself? One of my very close friends described social media as performance art, which is probably the best description of this phenomenon I’ve ever heard. I’m not saying it’s not hard work — in order to project this perfect life, you have to be a photographer, or at least know and/or have the money to pay for one, be a master of self-marketing, and you have to set aside the time in your day to make the posts (more on that in a bit). But as someone with at least half a brain, I know that the content being gobbled up by glowing, supportive friends and followers is only a version of reality.

I know I’m not the only one who feels utterly alienated by the “perfect lives” being presented on social media, and I know that it’s not most people’s intention to alienate their friends by posting gorgeous photographs and positive affirmations of their own journeys.

And yet, even just thinking about it is exhausting. It’s a destructive and deadly combination of self-loathing and self-doubt inspired by the vast majority of what I see on Facebook and Instagram with knowing full well that those feelings are totally unfounded since the posts are not a true reflection of reality. It doesn’t motivate me, it doesn’t inspire me to follow their lead, it doesn’t get my blood pumping. It just makes me tired.

—

By my nature, I am a relatively private person. I have no real desire to share my private life with strangers, and it’s a struggle for me to open up to acquaintances. I have a hard time talking about myself, my dreams and aspirations, my needs and wants with other people. I keep to myself, I have a small circle of close friends and family with whom I share things openly.

There’s nothing like the gut-wrenching feeling you get when you’re talking passionately about your art or your interests or your hopes for the future with someone and seeing the very moment their eyes glaze over with disinterest. It’s a special kind of soul-crushing dismissal that has lead me to live an introvert’s life. Because why, after all, would I share anything with people when that’s the reaction I often got in my youth when sharing with my peers?

The whole grand purpose of social media is to share. Share everything and share often. Artists who hold regular jobs and don’t have an abundance of free time or energy to devote to generating social media content on top of the art they’re already making need to find that magical balance. The Buzzfeed article about burnout that was circulating a few months ago touches on this a bit. Work + Art + Self Promotion. That’s always been the case for artists looking to make a profit off their work, but now it’s on a whole other level and puts creatives in direct competition with social media influencers and everyone else on FB, IG, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, etc. When I say time and energy, I mean the lack of energy I personally have after a working a job that already requires me to use my creativity, strategy, and organizational skills. When I get home or when I finish a job, I want to recharge so I can have the energy and motivation to actually sit in my studio and make new art. I struggle with budgeting out my time and energy for taking photos, writing cute little descriptions, thinking up clever hashtags, and setting timers to remind me when to post in order to get the most views.

I’m over-focused right now on making the art, in finding my voice as an illustrator, in re-vamping my portfolio and considering the future of my practice. I would need a personal assistant to run my social media accounts in an effective and professional way, and I don’t understand how other artists don’t have assistants. Or maybe they do. At the very least it would require me to have my phone in my hand far more than I already do, so another reason to keep it on me, especially in my studio while I’m in the zone, working, makes me feel gross.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “But Emma… you took all this time to write and edit this long blog post. Surely you could have used that time to work on content for your IG or FB accounts.” And you would be right. However, I’m in a place mentally and emotionally where I see the social media game, I understand it, but I just don’t want to play it. Not the way we’re all expected to if we want to get noticed. I’m not a performance artist, I’m not extroverted enough, my process doesn’t lend itself to this new gold standard of being an artist in the 21st century. Am I making big strides to change my process? Not really, because the very nature of social media feels inauthentic to me and the work I want to be making.

—

In the end… I don’t really know how to make social media work for me and my own journey as an artist. It would be great if there was some compromise, some middle path for people like me who are rubbed the wrong way by hashtags and stories and filters. Is there even a possibility for existing any other way as an artist today? Because everyone I know who creates any kind of art seems to have accepted and figured out the key to doing well on social media. It’s almost not even worth airing my grievances since I’m not willing to completely change and conform to something that does not feel right to me.

I’ll just keep plugging along as I have been until I figure it out. Or some kind souls who have been through a similar conundrum swoop in and offer their wisdom and insight.