[The warboss just shook his head. “Got things I gotta do here, Rem.”

[Borky sighed and rubbed his brow. “What d’you know about G’nash?”

Mister Borpington perked. “Oh! I know plenty about ganache! It is a smooth, thick chocolate with cream. You can use it in all sorts of delicious desserts! Why do you need to know about ganache?”

I could not get this idea out of my brain. It kept coming back, wanted to write about Borky more and bring back some of the folks i made up from the first piece I did. So I finally wrote some down. (I listen on the podcast. I haven't even started Campaign two yet.)

[The taller orc straightened. “Warboss, I’m Toknag, second son of Yuthi and Ursine. This one is my younger brother, Rathnak. We heard there was a Warboss here who defeated Agranak, the champion of G'nash of the Blood Axes, at the Mountain of Repetition."

Bahaha. This stream just killed me. The picture before this one was a beautiful luxadon woman (elephant person), which was what the joke was about. 

"Hey, isn't the chick cyborg the one that hooked up with you in the other Past?" Yamcha muttered.

"Oh, you're right. Oh, that's so weird." Krillin peered out like someone checking that the rain has stopped, looking up at Cyborg Eighteen. Sure, she'd tried to kill him but half the people here had done that too.

Yamcha mimicked him, examining Eighteen. "This is bullshit."

Krillin made a show of sweeping off his shoulder, smirking at him. --------------------------------------- I love background conversations. You can reveal so  much about your characters and what they’re doing and how they’re reacting by snippets like that--when they aren’t the focus of a particular chapter or scene. Its like a little aside to balance out the focus. Because readers/audiences need moments to process.

You’ve spent hours belaboring a sentence that they read in the blink of an eye. You have no idea if they got your meaning, if they liked it, if they understood it, if they despised it. You don’t know. You just threw a little piece of yourself out there, hours that you’ve spent talking to all these characters in your head and building into colors and shapes and if you really feel it then the words just flow, only to be halted by a misunderstanding of a single word, punctuation, phrase--because when we read, we imagine as we go. We create the voices, we associate a feeling towards a certain character so that we can understand the grasp of the story. And the more interested we are, the more deeply we analyze.  The more we write, the harder we judge ourselves (the most difficult judgment of all, in some ways). The more we write the gentler we become on those that we can see are newer writers and knowing how difficult it actually is to feel so many characters in the space of 10-20 pages (which is just always my personal goal for the pieces I write), we offer what we have learned through our own trials with thinking we are the worst writers on the planet but also being proud of that one bit where you felt like you nailed the meaning, the feeling, you were going for. 

And so when someone comments, every time you feel like you’re under a spotlight, closing one eye as you click because you don’t know if its going to be a nice comment (”This is really cool!”), The Thoughtful Comment Everyone Wants (”I think this is interesting enough to leave a comment because...”) or the Hateful Anon (no examples needed, i presume).  And so every time, you wait to either be stabbed in your brain and your heart--because the combined effort is where writing comes from--or someone says something nice or interesting or thoughtful (preferred because it gives the author something to interact with, to bounce ideas from and discuss the characters) or just doesn’t tell you that you’re a combination of vulgarities and mud-slinging. (Sometimes, that’s all you need.)  It’s very stressful posting new parts sometimes. Especially things I’m not certain about.

The detective was alive, his eyes were open but he was staring right passed her.