#writer rants

Okay so, I've read approximately eight thousand YA novels where the party scene goes like this: protagonist shows up, immediately finds themselves in a Deep Meaningful Conversation with their love interest in a convenient quiet corner, maybe there's some Tension, maybe someone spills a drink, and then something Plot Relevant happens and they leave. And I'm just like... have you people BEEN to a party???

Because actual parties are SO MUCH WEIRDER than that.

parties don't just START, they like... materialize

First of all, there's always that horrible awkward beginning that nobody wants to write but is SO REAL. Like, you show up and there's maybe four people there and everyone's just... standing. The music is playing but it's too quiet so you can hear everyone breathing. The host is running around moving furniture and hiding their embarrassing stuff and you're like "should I help? am I allowed to sit? why did I come?"

And there's ALWAYS that one person who shows up thirty minutes early because they're anxious (it me) and now they have to help set up while pretending they totally meant to arrive early, it's chill, they're chill, everything's chill (nothing is chill).

For the first like forty-five minutes everyone's doing this weird performative standing thing in the kitchen because kitchens are Safe Spaces apparently. Nobody sits down. Everyone's holding their drink like a shield. Someone keeps fiddling with the speaker because the volume is never right, it's either so loud you're screaming "WHAT?" every five seconds or so quiet that everyone can hear you chewing and it's unbearable.

and the CONVERSATIONS oh my god

Here's what actually happens: you do NOT have one continuous conversation with one person for twenty minutes. That's not a thing. You START a conversation—"so how do you know—" and then someone cranks the music and you're just screaming half-words at each other. Or someone squeezes between you to get to the drinks and by the time they pass you've both forgotten what you were talking about. Or your friend grabs your arm because they need you to come meet someone RIGHT NOW and you're just gone, mid-sentence, RIP to that conversation I guess.

You end up having the SAME conversation like six times with different people. "How do you know the host?" "What do you do?" "This place is nice right?" And you're recycling the same responses and doing the same polite laugh and it's like being an NPC in a video game but you're also kind of okay with it because at least you know the script?

But THEN—and this is the part that's actually interesting—you'll end up in these random deep conversations that come out of nowhere. Like you're waiting for the bathroom at 1am and the person in front of you just... starts telling you about their existential crisis? And you're giving them genuine life advice even though you met them seven minutes ago? The party creates this weird bubble where normal social rules don't apply and suddenly you're trauma-bonding with a stranger over your complicated relationships with your mothers.

the party has LAYERS like an onion or whatever

Okay so parties aren't just one thing happening in one room. They're like multiple parties happening simultaneously in the same space and you're just bouncing between them.

The kitchen is always home base. That's where you go to refuel, to hide, to have actual conversations because the music's quieter. There's always someone camped out in there eating chips directly from the bag and having a surprisingly coherent discussion about like, capitalism or their thesis or whatever.

The bathroom line is its own ecosystem. People get REAL in the bathroom line. Someone's crying. Someone's hyping them up. "Your hair looks AMAZING." "No YOUR hair." They've known each other for ninety seconds but they're soulmates now. Also someone's definitely asking everyone if they have a tampon.

If there's any outdoor space (balcony, backyard, fire escape, whatever) that's where the Philosophers go. Doesn't matter if it's literally freezing. Something about being outside makes people want to discuss simulation theory and whether free will exists. There's always someone out there on the phone having a whisper-argument with their partner. There's always someone smoking (something) and waxing poetic about a professor who changed their life.

And then there's the dancing zone which starts with one (1) brave/drunk person just... dancing alone and everyone's pretending not to watch but also kind of rooting for them? And then their friend joins and then it hits critical mass (which is like four people) and suddenly everyone's dancing and it's the best part of the night.

the party EVOLVES it's like a living organism

Okay so parties have this arc right?

Early party (like 9-10pm): Everyone's too sober. Too self-aware. Doing that thing where they're standing in little clusters with the people they came with, creating these sad islands of familiarity. The music's background noise. People are ASKING PERMISSION to sit on the furniture. It's tragic.

Sweet spot party (like 10:30-12): THIS is the vibe. Everyone's there, everyone's loose, the playlist is HITTING, multiple good conversations are happening, someone's telling an incredible story with way too much hand-waving, people are laughing for real not just polite-laugh. This is the Instagram story moment. This is the party you'll remember.

Post-midnight party: Things split. Some people have to leave (they have brunch, they have work, they're weak). The people who stay are IN IT. The energy shifts into something weirder and looser. Inhibitions are gone. Someone orders food and when it arrives at 1:30amit's treated like a miracle. The music gets quieter or weirder or both.

Deep night party (2-3am): It's like eight people max. Someone's asleep on the couch and everyone's just accepted it. The conversations are DEEP because everyone's too exhausted to maintain their personas. Someone's crying-laughing about something that isn't even funny. These are your people now. You're bonded. The host keeps saying they should clean up but nobody moves.

the little chaos details that make it REAL

Someone always breaks something. A glass, a bowl, someone's phone screen. There's that horrible frozen moment and then everyone's like "DON'T MOVE" and someone's getting paper towels and the person who broke it is apologizing way too much.

The music becomes a legitimate source of conflict. "Who put this on?" "This song SLAPS." "This song is literally eight minutes long can we skip?" Someone's trying to queue songs but someone else keeps overriding them and there's this silent aux cord war happening.

People VANISH. Like you'll be talking to someone and turn around and they're just... gone. Teleported. You find them twenty minutes later deep in conversation with someone's roommate's cousin about pasta shapes. Or they've been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and you're getting concerned.

Someone always shows up with a guitar or ukulele and it's either going to be magical or a disaster, no middle ground. Someone's always asking if anyone has a phone charger. Someone's always trying to take a group photo and it takes literally twelve attempts because someone blinked or "wait I look weird one more."

The host's pet is getting more attention than most humans. There's always someone who's just... opted out of socializing to pet the cat for forty-five minutes straight. Valid honestly.

the game situation

Okay so someone ALWAYS suggests a game. Beer pong, Kings Cup, Never Have I Ever, Cards Against Humanity, whatever. And here's what happens:

Someone suggests it. Everyone's like "YES." Someone else is like "okay wait what are the rules?" Cue five people explaining five different versions of the rules. Nobody agrees. You play anyway with a Frankenstein version that makes no sense.

It's fun for exactly twenty minutes. Then either:

Someone reveals something too personal and it gets awkward

Someone gets way too competitive and kills the vibe

Everyone just... loses interest and wanders off

All of the above

The cards/cups/whatever end up scattered everywhere. Nobody cleans them up. You find a random King of Hearts under the couch three days later.

AND....you cannot and should not try to describe everything happening at the party. That's not how human brains work. Your POV character is having a conversation while ALSO half-aware that someone's dancing badly in the corner, while ALSO the music just shifted to a song everyone knows and there's this collective recognition moment, while ALSO someone's laughing way too loud across the room.

Let stuff happen OFF PAGE. Your character goes to get another drink and when they come back everything's different. Someone's crying now. Someone left. A new group arrived and shifted the whole energy. That's real! That's how parties work! You miss stuff!

And like... not everyone's having the same experience? One person's Best Night Ever is someone else's "I'm quietly having a panic attack in the bathroom." The person who looks like they're having the most fun might be running from something. The quiet person observing might be perfectly happy. A good party scene holds all that contradiction.

the actual dialogue bits

If you want it to feel real, people need to sound like people:

"Wait how do I know you? Were you at—" "I'm not even that drunk watch—" immediately fails at something simple "Okay but WHERE is Jake he's been gone for like an hour" "Is this weird? This feels weird." "It's not weird." "It's definitely weird." "We should totally hang out sometime!" (they will never hang out) "WHAT TIME IS IT?" "Oh my god it's 2am???" "I'm leaving after this song" does not leave after this song "Dude we were literally BEST FRIENDS in middle school"

anyway parties are chaos and if your party scene feels too clean and organized you're doing it wrong, make it messier, make people interrupt each other, make someone spill something, let it be weird and loud and confusing because that's what they actually are

okay rant over i'm gonna go drink water (or maybe apple juice?? idk)

You don’t owe anyone your work.

Not your time. Not your energy. Not your consistency. You are creating with your own skills, your own tools, on your own time.

There is no contract to follow, there are no deadlines set, and you have no obligation to update on a schedule just because other people are waiting.

Real life comes first, your health, your responsibilities, your relationships, your rest. If you’re exhausted, burned out, dealing with school, work, family, or just trying to stay afloat, that matters more than any post.

If creating starts to feel like pressure instead of something you enjoy, you’re allowed to slow down, you’re allowed to take breaks, you’re allowed to stop entirely, temporarily or permanently, without explaining yourself.

You don’t need to apologize for posting late, you don’t need to justify gaps in update, you don’t need to push through stress or burnout just to meet expectations from people you don’t know.

And for anyone who feels entitled to content.

You’re not paying for it. You’re not in control of it. You don’t get to demand updates, dictate direction, or pressure creators into producing faster. Passive aggressive comments, guilt tripping, or acting like you’re being denied something is entitlement.

I keep seeing the same pattern over and over again, and it needs to be said clearly.

Too many creators are out here apologizing for having lives, as if they’ve done something wrong by not posting on time.

And at the same time, too many people watching their work are acting entitled to it. Asking for updates, demanding more, treating free content like it’s something they’re owed.

It’s not.

No one is owed someone else’s time, energy, or creativity, especially when it’s being shared for free. Respect the creator’s pace, their boundaries, and their decisions.

Most creators aren’t backed by big budgets or full teams like major studios, they’re one person, working with what they have, driven by skill, effort, and a vision they care about.

And if you’re someone who enjoys that content, act like it, appreciate it, respect it, support it, but don’t demand anything from the creator.

Because at the end of the day, there is a real person behind the screen, and they come first.

"He was terrified, he could not breathe" is bad writing, you should say: "His lungs stopped working. Sweat dripped from his forehead to his torso. His heartrate increased. His hairs rose..."

And eight more lines of this! EIGHT!!!

The eagerness to seem smart and correct makes some perceive anything as flawed, apart from their own writing. The first sentence is perfectly fine! It's concise, direct, great in many contexts. The second is so queasy about using the word "scared" it ends up bogging down the flow.

Again, a lot of writing advice focuses on very local "improvements". When you look at your work, try to think of the general harmony.

Are all sentences very short/the same length? Maybe some diversity and fineries could do good.

Is everyone relaxed? Then sentences can afford more "showing". The characters have time for noticing things.

Are you dragging the same bit of information over many lines? At least try to be original in your style and metaphors so that the reader does not skip them.

Have you ever felt that empty void deep within your soul and heart? The kind that doesn’t ache loudly, doesn’t scream or demand attention, but instead settles quietly, making everything feel distant? Like you’re standing in the middle of something that once meant everything to you, and yet you can’t quite reach it anymore.

That’s what this feels like to me right now.

With the final episode “More”, My Hero Academia anime has officially come to an end. And though I thought I would cry, or feel something sharp and overwhelming, there’s nothing but this quiet, echoing space where something used to live deep within me.

It’s strange, trying to explain what MHA was to me without making it sound like just a fandom, because it never was. It was one of the two worlds that carried me here, to this personal blog, to this version of myself. It was the reason I stepped away from the shared writing blog I ran with friends for years on Tumblr, choosing instead to build something on my own. I didn’t know then how much that decision would change me.

But it did.

From 2023 onward, I wrote like I was chasing something I couldn’t afford to lose. Over 300 MHA stories, can you imagine that? Entire nights dissolved into words, entire days shaped around requests. Sinful Sundays became a ritual. Emergency requests, commissions - they weren’t obligations, they were something I held onto. Something that made me feel needed, grounded.

MHA shaped me in ways I don’t think I’ll ever fully untangle. It deepened my love for anime, for manga, for Japan, for storytelling itself. It gave me characters I held onto like they were real, like they could understand parts of me no one else ever quite reached.

If you’ve been here for a while, you probably saw it before I could admit it. The updates became less frequent. The energy shifted. The words didn’t come as easily, didn’t burn the way they used to.

By the half of 2024, I was already losing that fire.

First came the ending of the MHA manga. I wish I could say it gave me closure. That it felt like a proper goodbye. But it didn’t. Watching it end and struggling with how some of the characters I loved most were treated, only deepened that hollow feeling. It was like losing something twice. First the story as I knew it, then the version of it I carried inside myself.

To those who say it’s childish to care this much about a manga - I understand how it might look from the outside. But it was never just about a story, or characters I happened to like. It was something that found me at the lowest point of my life. When everything felt heavy, repetitive, and unbearably real, that world became somewhere I could breathe. A place where I could step out of my own thoughts, even if just for a while. Where the noise of everyday struggles softened, where I didn’t have to carry everything all at once. Diving into that story gave me space. It gave me something to hold onto when reality felt like too much. It reminded me that I could still feel excitement, attachment, even comfort - things that were hard to find anywhere else at the time. And that’s why it mattered the way it did.

And then came something I don’t think I’ll ever fully make sense of, the final nail. I had been working on Sangreal - my vampire MHA AU - for nearly a year. It wasn’t just an idea. It was my little obsession, my pride, the world I had been building piece by piece for nearly a year. Over 60 pages of a handbook - lore, structure, character arcs, things I poured hours and pieces of myself into. It was, without question, the greatest achievement of my writing journey. And then, one day, it was gone. Deleted. Discarded like a trash by someone I once trusted. Someone I once called a friend, because they couldn’t accept that I chose to step away from them. There’s no clean way to explain what that felt like. A hollow so complete it almost had weight to it. Like reaching for something you know should be there, something you’ve touched a hundred times before, and closing your fingers around nothing but air. I cried for days. Everything I had built, everything I had spent months shaping, refining, caring about - erased with a single click.

And I know what people would say. I’ve heard it more than once. “You’ll rebuild it.” “You can reshape it.”

Maybe they’re right. Maybe, technically, it’s possible.

But they don’t understand that it’s not about simply rewriting it again. It’s about that version. The one I spent hours, days, months shaping. The one where every detail had been questioned, reworked, reconsidered until it finally felt right. I poured time into it - real time, the kind you don’t get back. Hours I could have spent doing anything else, given willingly because it mattered to me that much. And now I’m supposed to just start over? Knowing it won’t be the same? Knowing it won’t feel as precise, as intentional, as perfect as that first version did in my hands?

I can’t. I can’t just move past something that was taken from me like that. I can’t pretend it didn’t matter. And I can’t bring myself to pour that much of myself into writing again, not after knowing how easily it can all disappear. That was the moment something in me truly broke. That was when I gave up fully. I don’t think people will ever realize how final something like that can feel. Because there are things you don’t rebuild. You just learn to live with the space they left behind.

And somewhere between those losses, I realized something I didn’t want to admit. I’m tired. Not in a way that a single break resolves. So I’m making a decision that hurts more than I expected it to.

I’m taking a hiatus.

And I want to be honest with you: I don’t expect the series I’ve started to be publicly finished. If they ever are, it will likely be something I share only with people closest to me. I don’t see myself returning to posting the way I used to - not with that same consistency, that same openness, that same heart. But maybe I'll change my decision one day, who knows. For now, I want to write only when something truly inspires me again. When it doesn’t feel forced. When it doesn’t feel like I’m trying to recreate something that’s already gone.

I’m still here, though. I still want to talk and laugh with mutuals, to exist in this space with you all, just without the pressure of constantly creating, constantly pouring parts of myself into writing.

These past three years, they meant more than I can put into words. Every message. Every reblog. Every comment. Every moment you chose to stay, to read, to feel something alongside me - it built something I’ll carry long after this fades into memory. So thank you. For everything.

And maybe, one day, when this quiet emptiness isn’t the only thing I feel when thinking about creating stories, I’ll find my way back to writing again.

Ao3 is killing me right now. I keep getting emails that someone commented on a fic. THEN I GET SO EXCITED LIKE OMG SOMEONE LIKES MY WORK!

(And it’s not JUST Ao3. I’ve gotten plenty of bots on Tumblr too.)

But nnoooooo. It’s a stupid, mf, bot. (Or a real person but it’s clearly a scam)

“Message me on discord!” “I’m a comic book writer and artist!” “This link is my email, message me!”

No. Die in a hole. Go away.

This is mainly just me venting. But as someone who has literally only gotten ONE human being comment on a fic before, it’s just a little disheartening.

Ig this can also be a reminder to yall - don’t click random links on the internet. If someone messages you and you don’t know them, don’t follow them to a secondary platform to talk. Don’t send people money because they’re “struggling.” It’s very likely that classic “Nigerian Prince” scam.

Anyways… tldr: I wish someone actually liked my work. I wish bots weren’t real. Be careful on the internet.

I find that there are two things that really help me cope with this fear: