acknowledge pain and feelings dammit

awwww yeah!! thanks Lily!!

10. How would you describe your writing process?

I don’t think I have so much of a writing process. A lot of the time I get inspired by a tidbit of information or an image or even a song and I mull it over in my head. Pretty much I sit down and start writing, and think over the logistics as I’m typing. I’m in no rush, and usually the story makes sense to me the more I write. Lately I’ve been trying to unlearn the whole thing where the whole story unravels when I really think about it and cut anything that weighs it down.

Like I have a general story idea and bits and pieces of information that’s easy to put together. I don’t really sit down and start writing if I don’t have a lot of plot details, because then it’s much harder to piece together. And now I’m usually fine with writing one short fic and if it yields ideas for another chapter or sequel, I tend to do that. It’s helped my mental health and not rushing into writing so much.

With my current fics, pretty much all Tintin related, prompts were often the cause of them. I can get a whole load of motivation for fics and whole periods where I just don’t have it, but I love building off of prompts that allow me to explore stuff I realised I really wanted to look at and didn’t know how to. And the ideas I have now just springboard from those fics and really go places.

Once I get started, then the ball’s really rolling and I just spend my time typing away. I never have an exact plan, but just look at what might make sense to me following a paragraph or line of dialogue which I honestly prefer doing. Being spontaneous can be one of my strengths when it comes to stuff like this, frankly enough.

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?) 

With fandom, it depends on my hyperfixation. I’m obsessed with Tintin and it really allows me to continue to explore thought processes and understanding. My style doesn’t seem to change though, although I try and cut back on a whole lot of inner thoughts of the characters for clarity and see if I can put them more succinctly.

I also experiment with changing POVs in a fic, which does end up worrying me if I end up confusing readers even when I clarify who is thinking and who is talking. Which doesn’t help when I’m pretty much always writing from the thoughts of male characters. Whilst always being in third person point of view, although at a couple of points I did use second person point of view when I don’t use a canon character because it makes sense this way instead.

He probably wasn’t aware of his own breathing, eyes scanning too busily along the newsprint for any important information and flicking the pages away to notice. It was most likely his lack of sleep - he was so restless during the night and getting up at god knows what hour to pace nervously in his room (he didn’t want to accidentally wake anyone up and worry them; he was used to doing that) - but he felt himself blinking more, squinting to see the words properly as he noticed his vision fading slightly. He sat up against the chair, heart beating a little too fast in his chest.

He heard the little steps of Snowy on the wooden floor, having woken up and gently bounded off the bed to trot up next to him. He was yawning, stretching his body out and shaking his head before sitting and looking up at him with his shiny black eyes.

Tintin smiled down at him, and Snowy leaned into the touch as he scratched the top of his head and behind his ears, letting out a pleasant whine in the process. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep, he thought. A focus too much on one mystery to the next. He didn’t know how to relax, to be completely honest with himself.

He moved his hands to the desk in front of him, getting up to push his chair back. He felt unsteady on his feet as he stood up, blinking rapidly and leaning heavily against the desk in front of him. It was just exhaustion, right? Lack of sleep can cause stress and anxiety and he was just letting it get the better of him. No need to worry anyone else.

He would’ve usually shrugged this off if it wasn’t for the night before, but he sighed, nonetheless turning to walk off this feeling. He was hardly one to give up at the first hurdle considering what he did.

Snowy was walking around his feet, looking up at him with concern in his black eyes. Dogs were usually able to sense before anyone else that something was wrong and Snowy was no exception to this rule. In fact, he was probably more perceptive than most dogs, as far as Tintin was aware. Even if he could sense something though, Tintin wasn’t willing to admit weakness even if it was obvious. His brain was always whirring with new ideas about what to do and how to solve things. He didn’t often let himself rest until he’d had it figured out.

He stopped a few feet from his desk, putting a hand against his head, blinking dazily again as he felt an ache arise in his head and hissed. He forgot how little he had eaten recently, seeming to be running mainly on cups of tea and too focused on his work to even think about anything else. His legs were not feeling as solid as they used to - probably from sitting in his chair most days - and he’d been too focused to even think about his breathing.

It’s just a panic attack, he thought. He was far too used to these to think it was anything else - not like he wanted to anyway - and he wasn’t about to. They happened, he dealt with them, and moved on. Nothing like he couldn’t handle.

Nothing like he couldn’t predict, he thought, not anticipating his stumble as he took a couple of steps forward. He didn’t anticipate not being able to catch good ground, vision swimming, body swaying, momentarily feeling lighter than air. He could handle this, couldn’t he? He’d felt far worse from people who wanted him dead and managed to survive. Even if his breath felt like it left his body, feeling the usual sensation of the floor rushing up to meet him, even if---

He certainly didn’t anticipate the wooden bedpost in front of him, an almost indistinguishable object in his blurred vision as he uncontrollably fell headfirst with a painfully sharp thud against it, before he felt the usual darkness surround him before he even hit the floor.

Nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d be fine. Nothing to worry the captain about, or his own dog, unawares that the poor thing was barking up a storm at the door after scurrying away just before that moment. Everything else seemed drowned out, almost peaceful. So, getting up was the biggest problem of his with this, right?

no, it’s cool!! tbh i move stuff between blogs, it’s just this where i publish any writing!!

also it’s not so much of a snippet but it all makes sense for me to post all of this; this was based on the prompt i wanted to do of Tintin being stuck in a burning building (i will eventually post this one day i swear):

“He tried to sit up, scraping his shoes against the floorboards and tasting and smelling nothing but the sourness of the air in his effort and feeling nothing but the heavy warmth that began to press in on him. The air started to become heavier with what appeared to be smoke and out of the corner Tintin felt a rising panic when he caught a glimpse of a burning golden light in an outline of the smoke, silhouettes dancing on the wall as wood charred and wallpaper immediately curled up and turned black in its presence.