give me love

Hello all,

A few weeks ago, I proposed the idea of a Writer’s Gym, essentially an alternate or an addition to NaNoWriMo. The goal? To help writers of all experience levels develop their skills and more importantly their discipline. 

Based roughly on the format of NaNoWriMo, but with tweaks designed to create sustainable good habits, the Writer’s Gym would begin January 1, 2015. Over the course of 31 days, each writer would set their target word count for a manuscript and achieve it.

For people completely new to writing, or with limited spare time, the recommended amount  would be 3,000 words by the end of the month - 100 words a day, with one free day. For more experienced or ambitious writers the recommended amount would be 30,000 words - 1,000 words a day. The idea is to set an achievable goal, and at the end you will have the rough draft of a manuscript.

Then the real fun begins. Starting February 1, 2015, the goal will be to revise that manuscript. The idea is that writers will develop their discipline for writing every day, but also be able to write freely with the understanding that editing does not begin until the next month. This will teach good habits, discipline, and daily writing and also help people take on that onerous next step of revision. 

Writing is hard. Writing every day is even harder, and yet writers are often discouraged when life gets in the way, feeling that their failure to keep up the habit makes them bad writers, or worse, hopeless. As far as I can tell, this is the only field where an individual is expected to train all their own habits. Athletes have gyms, coaches, and trainers, musicians have regular practice hours. So here the plan is to create a space that will help writer’s develop the most difficult skill in the toolbox: discipline. No one is born with it, and no one should be expected to develop it without help and support from their peers.

in which Kate finds an old picture, circus-era old, and wants to know if Clint can still do that?

girly-girl I have no idea

let’s find out

and Lucky thinks it’s pretty great

dad what are you DOING

are we PLAYING?

Most State Farm agents, when they run into trouble, have to get the customer to do the jingle a second time. That guy with the buffalo was lucky.

The magic takes hold, and she materializes in the aisle of St. Peter’s Basilica, still holding the demon by the tail, in the middle of Sunday morning Mass. The music clatters unprofessionally to a halt as laypeople, deacons, priests, monks, nuns, and the Pope all turn their attention to the surprised demon whose fifth course of dinner has turned, unaccountably, into a visit to one of his least favorite places on Earth.

There is chanting in Latin, and vaguely cross-shaped gestures, and clouds of incense, and the demon vanishes in a puff of smoke, whether from the efforts of the clergy or of his own volition no one can say. The Agent doesn’t wait, fleeing towards the doors and escaping in the confusion.

She gains the exit and walks, purposefully, toward Rome proper; there, she ducks into the nearest alley. A burner cell phone comes out of one of the less-used pockets of her purse, and she dials a number from memory.

"Allstate," says a smooth masculine voice after three rings.

"State Farm," she answers. "I’m calling in a favor."

"Yeah?" Interest. "What sort?"

As she talks she’s pulling out her smartphone, keying an app that was activated by the summoning, and pulling up the policyholder data that enabled the incantation to work.

"Insurance fraud," she said, and can almost hear teeth sharpening on the other end of the line. She gives him the name, the address, the policy number. "Someone needs some mayhem."

"That’s my name," the man says.

She smiles. “Someone needs all the mayhem.”

He chuckles. Slow. Evil. Even with the echoes of demonic laughter ringing in her ears, she’s impressed. “Don’t worry,” he says, almost purring.

mirror of erised; smiling at harry and crying

godrics hollow; pleading for harry’s life and crying

prince’s tale; angry at petunia’s remarks and crying 

sirius’ letter; admits she cried all evening after hearing the news about the mckinnons