secret prose blog

I actually think about this a lot.  When it comes to my work, I tend to want a deep legacy rather than a widely-known or even a long one–I would love to have even one person have a story of mine that’s somehow become one of the stories that’s somehow become part of their mental landscape.  If I ever do publish a novel, I love to think of a particularly battered copy of it existing somewhere, read every few years by someone who loves it dearly.  I want to be a minor novelist, because minor novelists are the ones I think readers are more likely to have that oddly intense affection for, because it feels like the author appealed to you specifically and not to people generally.  I would like to be that kind of writer.

done; you can die now

honestly though – I think about your writing pretty often; you have a lovely clear way of explaining certain concepts that I strive to emulate, both in my own writing and in real life.

TREACLE WARNING: I’m a social worker and sometimes when I feel myself starting to get cranky and blame clients for not winning against a rigged system, I think of Hamilton at the farmer’s market. Growing up in a food desert. “How are there so many apples Burr what is that yellow thing WHAT”

(edited out the tl; dr)

Lengthy discussion of what the rest of fools who run their mouths off will/would have looked like, with the caveat that stories always change in the telling of them, so it’s highly likely that the finished results would not have matched up seamlessly with my shoddy mental outline.  In particular, I probably would have ended up taking out the shooting and replacing it with something more nuanced and less manipulative.  A disproportionate number of stories I write have someone getting shot as a plot device, because I am, as my wife will tell you, a trauma llama.  Also, this is disorganized and sloppily written and rambly.

Also, aww, thanks.  I am not brilliant, but I am extremely appreciative of flattery.

Lengthy discussion of what the rest of fools who run their mouths off will/would have looked like, with the caveat that stories always change in the telling of them, so it’s highly likely that the finished results would not have matched up seamlessly with my shoddy mental outline.  In particular, I probably would have ended up taking out the shooting and replacing it with something more nuanced and less manipulative.  A disproportionate number of stories I write have someone getting shot as a plot device, because I am, as my wife will tell you, a trauma llama.  Also, this is disorganized and sloppily written and rambly.

Also, aww, thanks.  I am not brilliant, but I am extremely appreciative of flattery.

I have nano to write, and the bouncer fic, and a lot of other stuff, plus actual life commitments in the real world.

But this picture has done things to me. Derailed all executive function and rerouted energy and emotion id-ward.

Because there are thighs, enormous muscular thighs (and biceps!), and longer twisted up hair, and FACIAL HAIR. I want to imagine - and tell you about - how 

lololol that people apparently really do believe that top/bottom dynamics can be so inherent to a ship. Of fictional characters. Which is often non-canon. (But not theirs! *Theirs* transcends such petty concerns, of course.)

do you ever read the tags on a fic and just kind of … nope out when they're real emphatic about who bottoms and who tops? i do sometimes. not every time. but sometimes i'm like, le sigh. i am disinclined to go along with this right now.

Meet The Robinsons

Tangled

Whinnie the Pooh

like E NW S

instead of N WE S

??

in which case, legolas would be correct

Would somebody please write a Sterek OmegaVerse fic where Alphas are the majority and Omegas are the minority and, as such, the Alphas compete for the Omegas instead of the other way around?  Like, perhaps it’s a mating run where the Omegas are doing the chasing!  Or maybe there’s some sort of pageant where the Alphas have to display their prowess at scenting by finding a specific wildflower chosen by their Omega, and must prove their physical capabilities via intense feats of strength.

He doesn’t go. People will stare; they’ll whisper. They may even come out and say it, what does he think he possibly has to offer to an omega. A good alpha is pure in mind and heart, brave and patient and strong, and Derek is none of those things. His entire family is dead because of it. It’s not fair, to bring a reminder of fear and betrayal to what’s supposed to be an occasion for joy.