Observations from a concrete exploration
Sep. 4th, 2021 02:31 pmAn errand took me into one of those many suburban places today, marked by strip-mall lots full of chain companies and strange nooks right next to a roaring highway. The errand itself took about five minutes, but I wandered around for about an hour afterwards, just trying to see what I could see.
In the spirit of what![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unnamedelement sometimes does, and conversations I've had about the way my brain works, I've decided to work on paying better attention to the world when I'm out in it, to actually notice what's going on around me. So, have some observations from today's attempt at noticing, although I'm very annoyed that Dreamwidth apparently won't keep my fun-with-spacing formatting.
( Read more... )
In the spirit of what
unnamedelement sometimes does, and conversations I've had about the way my brain works, I've decided to work on paying better attention to the world when I'm out in it, to actually notice what's going on around me. So, have some observations from today's attempt at noticing, although I'm very annoyed that Dreamwidth apparently won't keep my fun-with-spacing formatting.( Read more... )
Not to be a narcissist, but sometimes I have to wallow in my own cleverness, and I'm so proud of these lines I wrote.
(it's because Aragorn's going to tell him that the plan is to storm the Black Gate)
(The lines are from this fic if you happen to be interested, but be warned that it's a longish Hurt No Comfort fic about rejection and despair, so...yanno.)
“I have finished meeting with Éomer and Imrahil and Gandalf,” Aragorn said, after a moment of quiet. “We have made plans for the days to come, and I would speak to you of them.”
“Speak, then,” said Legolas. “But it matters not what you say. You know already that I am beside you, even if you decided to storm the Black Gate itself.”
“Ah.” Aragorn seemed a bit taken aback. “Well, that is… particularly good to hear."
(it's because Aragorn's going to tell him that the plan is to storm the Black Gate)
(The lines are from this fic if you happen to be interested, but be warned that it's a longish Hurt No Comfort fic about rejection and despair, so...yanno.)
(no subject)
Aug. 1st, 2020 11:10 amThe only things I've written in the past two years have been fanfiction and business copy and it SHOWS.
The water in the river is nearly brown, but what I wouldn't give to plunge into it.
It's the sticky season, the stagnant season, when sweat and sunscreen mingle into mulch on my skin, and the heat is ever on my heels. I waft the door open and shut in the morning, hoping to chase out the heavy air; I flee to the shade of the park and gaze out at a river I've never seen anyone swim in.
I shower cold, and warm water sluices down my body.
It's a season of stillness, of loneliness - of lying on the floor as if to hide beneath the gaze of the heat, of greedily gulping at each sip of fresh air. A season of staring at the photos of others' adventures, wondering if I'll ever find one of my own.
It was always supposed to be the season of freedom - but I'm the bird who stands still in the entrance of the unlatched cage, gazing out at the other birds flying free. Yearning to join them, and ignoring the open door.
At the park, I take one last glance at the still river, one last sniff of the fresh air.
Then I put away my journal and turn for home.
It's the sticky season, the stagnant season, when sweat and sunscreen mingle into mulch on my skin, and the heat is ever on my heels. I waft the door open and shut in the morning, hoping to chase out the heavy air; I flee to the shade of the park and gaze out at a river I've never seen anyone swim in.
I shower cold, and warm water sluices down my body.
It's a season of stillness, of loneliness - of lying on the floor as if to hide beneath the gaze of the heat, of greedily gulping at each sip of fresh air. A season of staring at the photos of others' adventures, wondering if I'll ever find one of my own.
It was always supposed to be the season of freedom - but I'm the bird who stands still in the entrance of the unlatched cage, gazing out at the other birds flying free. Yearning to join them, and ignoring the open door.
At the park, I take one last glance at the still river, one last sniff of the fresh air.
Then I put away my journal and turn for home.
(no subject)
Apr. 19th, 2020 03:11 pmMy relationship with my writing is so strange.
I just was looking through old fic documents and found a story I started working on last year, wrote entirely out in first draft, and then scrapped entirely because I absolutely hated it. Today I found it and decided to grit my teeth and read back through it . . . and was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. It actually had potential! I sent a couple snippets of it to a fandom friend, and long story short I've now cleaned it up and will probably post it sometime in the next week or so.
I always have the strangest sort of existential spiral when something like that happens. When I find old writing that I still think is good - especially if I didn't think it was good at the time - I always have this moment of panic, this fear that the fact that I can still appreciate my older stuff, it means I haven't gotten any better in all that time. Especially if this story didn't meet my standards a year ago, the fact that I found and read it today and thought it was good - does that mean I've gotten worse?
There's another dimension to this crisis, too, which is the fear of "why can't I write anymore?" Whenever I spend my time tweaking or rewriting an old thing, it feels like there's something wrong because I'm not writing something new. Why did my past self write so much more than my present self is writing? Where did all my ideas and inspiration go? And logically I know that a lot of this is silly, especially since I just finished a fic, but it's still something I feel all the time. Because writing is weird and brains are weird and sometimes existential crises come along no matter what. But all the same, it's frustrating.
I just was looking through old fic documents and found a story I started working on last year, wrote entirely out in first draft, and then scrapped entirely because I absolutely hated it. Today I found it and decided to grit my teeth and read back through it . . . and was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. It actually had potential! I sent a couple snippets of it to a fandom friend, and long story short I've now cleaned it up and will probably post it sometime in the next week or so.
I always have the strangest sort of existential spiral when something like that happens. When I find old writing that I still think is good - especially if I didn't think it was good at the time - I always have this moment of panic, this fear that the fact that I can still appreciate my older stuff, it means I haven't gotten any better in all that time. Especially if this story didn't meet my standards a year ago, the fact that I found and read it today and thought it was good - does that mean I've gotten worse?
There's another dimension to this crisis, too, which is the fear of "why can't I write anymore?" Whenever I spend my time tweaking or rewriting an old thing, it feels like there's something wrong because I'm not writing something new. Why did my past self write so much more than my present self is writing? Where did all my ideas and inspiration go? And logically I know that a lot of this is silly, especially since I just finished a fic, but it's still something I feel all the time. Because writing is weird and brains are weird and sometimes existential crises come along no matter what. But all the same, it's frustrating.
Gratitude Journal: 4/7/2020
Apr. 7th, 2020 09:04 pm1. The moon she is super!
2. That collab I keep vaguing about is almost done!!
3. Reading aloud to my computer (to be shared with friends and family).
2. That collab I keep vaguing about is almost done!!
3. Reading aloud to my computer (to be shared with friends and family).
(no subject)
Sep. 18th, 2019 09:16 pmI just spent a really really lovely couple hours with a coworker whom I've wanted to get to know better for months, and we had one of those wonderful hours-long conversations where we talked about everything and shared so much with each other and I just felt so honored that she shared with me, and it made me feel so good that I went home and wrote a poem for the first time in weeks.
...and it absolutely reads like a love poem, even though I swear it isn't. So I will not be sharing it with her, since I think that does stretch the bounds of coworker appropriateness, and I don't think I could assure her that it's not meant in "that way" at all.
I guess I just fall a little in love with everyone who gets close to me. Or maybe I'm in love with language, or with moments, or with those nighttime conversations where everything feels so open and honest and real.
...it's not even a very good poem.
...and it absolutely reads like a love poem, even though I swear it isn't. So I will not be sharing it with her, since I think that does stretch the bounds of coworker appropriateness, and I don't think I could assure her that it's not meant in "that way" at all.
I guess I just fall a little in love with everyone who gets close to me. Or maybe I'm in love with language, or with moments, or with those nighttime conversations where everything feels so open and honest and real.
...it's not even a very good poem.
(no subject)
Sep. 11th, 2019 09:19 pmI'm having more Feelings about my own OCs-- different situation this time-- and arrivals in Valinor. I apologize for inflicting them on you.
If you are interested in a tiny snippet of Legolas and Gimli welcoming Eleniel to Valinor, read on. Warning for platonic mouth-kisses between BFFs.
( Read more... )
If you are interested in a tiny snippet of Legolas and Gimli welcoming Eleniel to Valinor, read on. Warning for platonic mouth-kisses between BFFs.
( Read more... )
WIP Wednesday
Aug. 7th, 2019 07:36 amTrying to write Mirkwood during the Ring War is difficult because the information we have is sketchy at best and comes from about seven different sources, and I don't want to research all of it until every detail is exactly correct; I just want to make stuff up! :P
Anyway, if anyone is interested... *flings snippet into the ether*
( Read more... )
Anyway, if anyone is interested... *flings snippet into the ether*
( Read more... )
(no subject)
Jul. 8th, 2019 08:21 pmRapid
Summary:
Growing up in Mirkwood is not all spiders and shadows - there is time now and then for a pleasant afternoon with family. And if a bit of adventure is involved, so much the better, as far as Legolas is concerned.
His sister, on the other hand, may not remember this day as fondly.
...Or: what happens when I go rafting with my family in the middle of an endless monster WIP.
Summary:
Growing up in Mirkwood is not all spiders and shadows - there is time now and then for a pleasant afternoon with family. And if a bit of adventure is involved, so much the better, as far as Legolas is concerned.
His sister, on the other hand, may not remember this day as fondly.
...Or: what happens when I go rafting with my family in the middle of an endless monster WIP.
Posting this here because probably the few people who see this won't judge my rough-draft writing, but I just love it when a character has an epiphany while I'm writing and it helps me understand that character better!
Also, very small cameo from a background character who has speaking roles in stuff I've already written, so... fun stuff?
( Read more... )
Also, very small cameo from a background character who has speaking roles in stuff I've already written, so... fun stuff?
( Read more... )
(no subject)
Jun. 18th, 2019 09:41 pmit's so frustrating because I just wanna write my OCs falling in love but then there's all these empty spots that need to be filled in! this should NOT be as big a task as it's becoming!
(sidenote: this is how the entire FAV 'verse got started: there were spaces that needed to be filled and I had to keep creating characters to fill them-- and now those characters have started demanding their own stories. this is a problem.)
(sidenote: this is how the entire FAV 'verse got started: there were spaces that needed to be filled and I had to keep creating characters to fill them-- and now those characters have started demanding their own stories. this is a problem.)
WIP madness
May. 8th, 2019 09:56 pmHow do people who invent whole worlds do it? There’s so so much more going on in my head than I can write down, from thousands and thousands of years apart, so I can barely keep track of it—and the only way seems to be to write it down, but all I have are snippets here and snippets there, and no way to piece them together!
Oh, and also I’m so blocked I can hardly write a word.
In other totally unrelated news, if anyone wants to talk about the relationship between Thranduil and Laerwen, or what happens to Eleniel after she sails, or Alma’s sex life, feel free to ask.
Oh, and also I’m so blocked I can hardly write a word.
In other totally unrelated news, if anyone wants to talk about the relationship between Thranduil and Laerwen, or what happens to Eleniel after she sails, or Alma’s sex life, feel free to ask.
Like a Poem
May. 2nd, 2019 07:18 amToday’s “daily prompt” was “sonnet.” See my creation.
Sometimes I think my life is like a poem,
Relying on constraints to make me free.
I give myself a meter, rhyme, a form,
And hope it will engender artistry.
Sometimes I think my life is like my knitting—
(Can you guess what I’m working on right now?)—
Stitch after stitch, and hope that, all unwitting,
Some shape will form, some clarity, somehow.
Sometimes I hope my life’s a piece of art:
Some shape to it, a purpose in my path;
That some great whole will justify each part—
The love, the fear, the sadness, and the wrath.
And so I blunder, hoping it will form.
Sometimes I pray my life is like a poem.
Sometimes I think my life is like a poem,
Relying on constraints to make me free.
I give myself a meter, rhyme, a form,
And hope it will engender artistry.
Sometimes I think my life is like my knitting—
(Can you guess what I’m working on right now?)—
Stitch after stitch, and hope that, all unwitting,
Some shape will form, some clarity, somehow.
Sometimes I hope my life’s a piece of art:
Some shape to it, a purpose in my path;
That some great whole will justify each part—
The love, the fear, the sadness, and the wrath.
And so I blunder, hoping it will form.
Sometimes I pray my life is like a poem.
Writing update
Mar. 26th, 2019 06:06 amThe WIP that I've been whining about forever finally has a first draft! It's twice as long as the required amount and has about half as much substance as I'd like - but I hope that means it'll be easy-ish to cut down into something a little more streamlined and more fun. Now is time to take a good long time away from it. I freak out about deadlines, but I have to remember that the deadline for this isn't for several months, so I can definitely afford to let this sit for a week while I recover. Hopefully when I come back to it, I'll be able to see where and how it can be improved - and hopefully the distance will also help me see if there's anything in it worth keeping.
WIP Wednesday
Mar. 20th, 2019 08:57 pmIn the last few hours of this day, I have decided to share this excerpt of a thing that I'm trying so so so SO hard to make good. This is for my Fandom Trumps Hate bidder, and features Gimli doing a poor job of balancing the roles of adoring husband and Much Idolized Older Cousin.
This story is speaking to me on an intellectual level-- as in, I am very intrigued to see where it goes and how it shapes up-- but unfortunately my interest in it is NOT translating to the lively writing I was hoping for. This bit is one of the few pieces that has even a modicum of life in it. But I'm holding out hope, and I've been working on it steadily, so maybe it'll come together one of these days.
It was not polite to question, but Uni could not resist it. “And you truly love him?” they burst out. “An elf?”
“You doubt that I know my own heart?” Now Gimli’s voice held a hint of warning, and Uni shook their head in shame.
“No, no it is not that, it is only” – They did know basic rules of etiquette; they swore it, but the words were coming out unbidden even as some part of their mind watched in horror. “He is so... stringy.”
Gimli threw back his head and roared; his laughter echoed off the stone walls. “I am telling him you said that.”
This story is speaking to me on an intellectual level-- as in, I am very intrigued to see where it goes and how it shapes up-- but unfortunately my interest in it is NOT translating to the lively writing I was hoping for. This bit is one of the few pieces that has even a modicum of life in it. But I'm holding out hope, and I've been working on it steadily, so maybe it'll come together one of these days.
