#writing is hell

[insomnia-productions]

losing my absolute mind trying to (re)plot this story in the style of a little life. i have mixed feelings about that book overall but even one year later im just completely in love with the way the narrative moves through time-- if you want to write something that spans many years, about characters who have known each other for a very long time... god if that isn't just the perfect way to do it

that was the original vision when i came up with this concept last year, but i gave up on it pretty quickly... but i think it has to be written Like That, or it just won't work. but HOW.

i tried to research how yanagihara planned and outlined her novel, but her interviews are. not helpful. shes just built different i guess

...i may need to invest in a corkboard and copious sticky notes

[jaminster]

just wanna keep y'all updated and let y'all know that I'm getting it going with Plumbing Service pt.2, still battling my way through the spicy part but I'll survive (my soul may not) Also I'll just give this to you guys, the sequel's name will be: "Second Encounter". ik, that's so original and good right?

[miss-celestia13]

Sometimes, writing is fun and light and easy. It just happens and I trick myself into believing that it’ll always be that way.

Other times, writing is just me staring at the screen, screaming at it, begging it to write itself or asking the useless gods to grant me the brain cells to complete it because it’s broken me down.

I’m just. I can’t. I’ve had enough. I am not made for this life. I bit off more than I can chew and now it’s time to pay up, I am in severe debt. Fuck my life. Fuck the universe for telling me to be creative. Fuck me, fuck this story and fuck everything.

Okay, I’ve had my wee tantrum, now I can think again. This will be the death of me, but it will die first. If I’m going out, I’m taking something to hell with me. Lord knows, the devil might know some tricks to complete it. Plus I just like the idea of asking him; “Hi, would you like to proofread my smutty fanfiction?” I reckon he’d enjoy that, or he’d turn me to ash and I’ll finally be at peace 🤭

[merylstryfestan]

i WILL finish this draft before i go to sleep i MUST i am STRONG and these boys deserve to KISS

[jaminster]

literally cuz why’d I have to complicate plumbing service? it was supposed to be a one-off thing but here I am writing a pt.2 and my brain is uncontrollably planning a possible 3rd part a literal multi chapter story of how their situationship progresses into something more and there’d be angst and communication and everything but in the end they’d be happy and live happily ever after

My constant struggle when writing PWP

[prokopetz]

No copypasta has ever ruined my life as comprehensively as Hell Fuck Castle. I write tabletop RPGs, and now every time I read a lore blurb about an ancient ruined kingdom where everything was cool until the last ruler fucked it up, my brain whispers "King Big Sad Guy, who did the Flame Thing".

[theaftersundown]

fanfiction truly being the savior for everyones sanity

[underdressedgoth]

I can't feel my fingers :')

[finny-again]

I did my thing, time to watch cartoons and get attacked by ideas while I watch said cartoons

[misfitprose]

I think I remembered why I took such a long break from writing.

I'm having so much trouble trying to put what's in my head into real words that people can read.

Your first draft is supposed to be full of mistakes and things that you'll probably delete, but that's SO HARD for me to allow to exist. I edit as I go, and it's like working on a train while it's barreling down the track. No one is more critical of my writing than me, and it's never finished even when it's finished (If you're a writer, you'll understand that). Being held to such high standards, both real and perceived, makes it hard to just exist without having to be perfect.

[bringbackthepornbots]

absolutely love editing. 11/10 activity. it goes fast, it makes me feel good about my writing, and (best of all) it means the drafting stage is done

[geezmarty]

(bellara/taash) nerd/jocks lovers rise up

[miss-celestia13]

Red Light Spells Danger

Ao3 collage for chapter 33, which is proving to be an absolute bitch to finish. Lovely.

[catssavril]

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[chloesimaginationthings]

Poppy playtime should have more Harley Sawyer ngl