#writing applications

[taao-datingsim]

Quick update: I've gone over the applications submitted (thank you once again to everyone who applied) and I'll be sending emails out in the next few days!

[frownyalfred]

Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:

Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.

You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.

When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.

A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)

Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)

The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.

Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.

Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.

[witchhazelpublishing]

Writing submissions close TOMORROW + artist applications open today!

Hello everyone!

First of all, there's one day left to submit writing for our first anthology! We officially close at 23:59 GMT, giving you a little over 24 hours. We'd like to say a big thank you to everyone who has submitted so far. For those who haven't, this is your reminder to do so before submissions are closed.

Secondly, we're now putting out a call for artists to help illustrate our zine! This will match the theme of the writing - queer life and community - and we specifically seek a cosy, happy, relaxed vibe. The medium can be traditional or digital, as long as good quality photographs or scans are provided. The deadline for this is the 31st of January 2025. After this, we will begin editing!

We look forward to seeing your art entries and the last of the writing entries!

[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[finifugue]

'the F1 movie needed to have Brad Pitt fuck his female engineer because there needed to be sexual tension!' BORING. If they wanted sexual tension they should've made it historically accurate and true to real life and had Brad Pitt fuck his teammate

[peachylynnie]

sylus: check it out! i got us matching bracelets!

mc: are those handcuffs?!

sylus: never leave me.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

It's a rough night at Purgatory Hall. Your sobs into the familiar cotton of a black turtleneck prove as much. Warmth invades from every side as Solomon's body cocoons around yours on the bed, arms tightening ever so slightly with every hiccup that escapes you.

"Shh... You're alright," he whispers so softly. "Everything's going to be alright."

Lithe fingers trace around the shell of your ear as soft lips press to your hairline, doing anything he can to soothe you. It breaks his heart to see you so upset. With every mumbled, and barely coherent, stressor in your life, Solomon yearns to right every last wrong. To rid everything that gets in your way of a happy life. But so many of your problems are completely out of his control -- no matter how powerful he may be. He has to hope that the resilient nature he admires so much in humanity, that he admires in you, will prevail.

The only thing he can control is by remaining determined to do right by you. You came to him for his comfort, and by God he will kiss every last tear away, hold you until his eyes become bloodshot, whisper reassurances until his voice goes hoarse, and be the one constant in your life that believes in your future.

[mischievous-thunder]

He's a babygirl, Wade. That's how old he is!

[taao-datingsim]

Writing Applications Are CLOSED!

Thank you to everyone who sent in an application! I'll be taking the next week or so to go over everything, and then I'll send out an email to those who have been accepted for the position(s)!

[richyys]

(. .*)β〃`*:;,．★ ～☆・:.,;*

[snowylynxx]

why are they so fun to draw

[circinuus]

thinking about tackling and squeezing the living daylights out of lycaon or wriothesley ughh; running up to them, headbutting them on the chest, pressing your ear to where their heart is nestled, crushing their ribs and plant a clawing grip on their back. you can try all you might but they won't topple beyond a slight jostle or a small step back. their arms will find a secure place on your shoulder; a beat of a startled breath before it's replaced by an incredulous chuff. the same arms follow suit and return the gesture, pressed gently on your lower back. they smell like tea and something clean and nice and warm. it's half part of pleasant and ridiculous, how they let you, inexorable and arbitrary, indulge in their presence like this. when you giggle from the charming absurdity and your breath tickles the skin of their neck, you can feel the vibration of their hum, their throat against your nuzzling cheek.

you both stay like that for a while; life is good.

GHHHHSOBSSSS GENTLEMEN ONE CHANCE

[inbetweencoffees]

no sleep, no coffee🌛

Just like the night before I slept less than 4 hours tonight, yay…Our coffee machine didn’t feel like doing its job at 6.30am (me too, my dear, me too), so the only thing that made me feel somewhat alive was todays sunset. Since the term is almost over we’re not doing too much in classes anymore. Gladly that means I can more or less relax until February. Except for homework and teachers getting on my nerves (my tutor huh). Who didn’t get on my nerves though was a friend of mine! They asked if I could give them feedback on their writing samples for their uni applications and I really enjoyed reading and reviewing it! It was a mix of short stories, text excerpts and poems; their last poem was my personal favourite :)

Now: watching soccer match, hoping to sleep >4h

[whumpster-dumpster]

Love it when a whumpee who's known to be especially emotive just goes blank. Dead quiet, glassy eyes, no thoughts head empty, especially if the change is super abrupt and unnerving

[loonybun]

magical girls as living weapons magical girls and living weapons magical girls as living weapo

[glitchedmagic]

Etho looking up is what gave the game away. 

He had that look in his eyes. Cautious and alert and just the right amount of paranoid. He opened his mouth to call a warning—

Tango was moving before he even processed anything else and the explosion that would have killed him instead just launched him forward, where he hit the grass and rolled up onto one knee, reaching for a sword he didn’t have. 

Bdubs shouted something. Cub groaned. 

Those damned red names couldn’t give him a moment’s peace—

Tango blinked. Red names? This was Hermitcraft. It had been months since the last life game. 

But he looked up to the top of his now-ruined cliff and there was Cub, another TNT minecart in hand and Tango swore he saw a flash of red. 

It was gone as quickly as it appeared. Bdubs negotiated a fishing tournament, Cub ran off and reappeared in brightly dyed leather armor and a fish mask (that obscured his eyes, Tango noted). Scar joined them and there was peace and fishing for a while. 

He sat on the grass next to Etho, his tail flicking lazily through the air as he watched his bobber. Etho had his feet in the water and looked to the casual observer like the picture of serene. 

Tango wasn’t the casual observer. 

He’d seen Etho sit just like this on the edge of a fortress of snow, dark oak tree at his back, watching the world around him. Later, he’d joined Etho on a narrow bridge a hundred blocks in the sky, watching the ants below plant wheat on a dumb bridge. And most recently, they’d sat by a river and listened to Bdubs chatter in the distance, and waited for the chaos to resume. 

“Your fishing rod is smoking.” Etho said softly. 

Tango dropped it and… yep. There were clear marks from his claws burned into the handle. 

Etho splashed a bit of water onto it and the smoke was whisked away on the wind. 

“Whoops,” Tango tried to laugh it off and reached into a pocket for his fireproof gloves. “You know, fishing is intense and all that.”

Etho looked at him for a long, soul-exposing minute. Then he turned back to his bobber and said, “This isn’t the life games, ya know.”

“I know—“ 

“But whatever is going on, it’s not that different.” Etho finished, his voice at a volume for only the two of them to hear. “And if Cub’s already breaking out TNT minecarts around people’s builds…”

“We’ve been thrown right into the end game.” Tango agreed. “What can we even do about it, though?”

“The exact same thing you do on the life series. Survive. Keep on your toes. Distract and deflect when you can, run when you can’t. Have back up plans and alliances and know that at the end of the day, the only person you can trust is yourself.”

“That’s…” Tango let out a breath. His attention had long since left fishing. “How have you not won yet?”

“I don’t know. I certainly deserve it,” Etho laughed. 

“Humble today, aren’t you?”

The two of them fell into silence. Bdubs and Scar were bickering somewhere behind them, something about horses. Scar laughed loudly and Tango wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or if the laugh was a little more maniacal than usual. 

He glanced over his shoulder to where Cub was standing, fishing rod in hand, and posture stiff. With the mask, it was impossible to tell where his attention was focused. 

A fish tugged on his line and Tango started to reel it in, feeling it fight against the pull. He let out a low breath, settling his fire. “I think I need to start carrying a sword.”

Etho just hummed in agreement.