I feel like when you’re writing, organizing chapters and dialogue is easy
but jfc, the amount of time it takes to constantly keep people moving and make sure they’re in the right spaces and trying to come up with wording for it is always such a shock.
Like, fuck, I made you pick up a coffee cup, you need to put it down at some point. also I can’t remember what I dressed you in, can you push up your sleeves? I don’t remember if you even have your shirt on.
and YOU. YOU OVER THERE, you got out of your chair earlier, but did you come back yet? Are you coming back? Where did you even go and why’d you get up? Fuck, I can’t make you sit down again already, you just stood up, go…over there. go get more coffee. Did you bring your mug with you? fine. bring the pot to the table and—wait, wasn’t the coffee pot already over here? shit, hold on, I need to go back and re-read and re-write
this is the most relevant thing i have ever read.
I think one of the most wild things as a writer is the sensation that you’re not actually directing your characters– they’re sort of directing themselves, and you’re scrambling around attempting to copy down whatever it was that they just did, but they don’t wait for you to finish copying. They just keep walking and talking and moving around and existing of their own volition and at some point you look up and you’re like “WHOA OKAY EVERYBODY BACK THE FUCK UP WHERE ARE WE”
It’s kind of like trying to write sheet music for an orchestra while it’s playing
Had to go research this thing, and the answer to what to do if it stings you is scream.
from Wikipedia-
“One researcher described the pain as “…immediate, excruciating, unrelenting pain that simply shuts down one’s ability to do anything, except scream. Mental discipline simply does not work in these situations. In terms of scale, the wasp’s sting is rated near the top of the Schmidt sting pain index, second only to that of the bullet ant, and is described by Schmidt as “blinding, fierce [and] shockingly electric”.“
Soooooo…dissociate to escape or?
It’s laying eggs in you.
Let’s back up a second and fully appreciate that description.
The Schmidt sting pain index, a widely used classification system for the bites and stings of ants, bees and wasps, is literally the personal ranking system of a guy named Justin Schmidt, who goes around letting bugs sting him for science. Like, that’s this Thing as a scientist.
In one entry, he describes the sting of the common bee as “almost pleasant, [like] a lover just bit your earlobe a little too hard.”
In another, the sting of the yellowjacket is described as “hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on your tongue.“
So when the Schmidt sting pain index characterises the sting of the tarantula hawk as “blinding, fierce [and] shockingly electric”, well, now you know what your standard for comparison is!
this is fascinating but when do we kinkshame Justin Schmidt
i don’t think people understand that people can ‘love’ you and not actually love you
like my grandmother ‘loved’ me, but she also was always trying to change me. she tried to take me away from my (catholic bisexual) mother. she made me wear dresses when i was there. she always tried to get me to go to church and was always asking me if i was dating a boy yet
i spent years feeling guilty that i wasn’t what she wanted me to be until my mom told me one day “she never bothered to know the real you”
and it’s true. any time i tried to show her something about myself, even cook for her, it would be dismissed, and a replacement would be offered. even northern food was somehow a sin.
she loved me what she thought i should be, she never loved me.
bc people who love you, they love you for all the stuff that makes you you. they never consider that it makes you inconvenient.
“It was true: the other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold.“
Loving someone like a prized possession is a very different thing from loving someone like a person you care about.
Captain-Radioactive-Mentality 