One Of My Favorite Dichotomies In Writeblr Is The Circulation Of Two Opposite But True Ideas:

One of my favorite dichotomies in writeblr is the circulation of two opposite but true ideas:

A) Don't stop writing.

B) It's ok to not be writing.

Both of these are true simultaneously.

A) If writing is your passion, if its something you love to do so so much then do what you can to prioritize it. This is permission to hold off on the laundry or the dishes and give yourself a night to order food delivery and write until your heart is content. It's also a reminder that you love to write so don't give up on it or yourself

B) When all of your spoons are dirty, bent, broken, or just plain gone, it is also ok not to write. The water that hardens the egg softens the potato so when you feel like a potato in a boiling pot, your writing can wait. It will always be there for you. It's not judging you or calling you names (but if it is, you can tell it to stuff it because you are its deity). Give yourself the grace to know that hard times are temporary and you *will* get back to writing. Forever doesn't exist.

I really hope that you see whichever type of post you need when you need it. Keep thriving, friends <3

Somewhere in Gotham’s conspiracy circles and social media, there has to be a pretty rampant, unkillable theory that Alfred is Batman. Mysterious butler who has an army of young children to be Robins, all funded by Bruce Wayne.

Every time some news outlet seems to dismiss it or people forget, suddenly there's a clip of Alfred barely breaking a sweat as he disarms a mugger coming at Bruce Wayne, or expertly demonstrating a knife trick to a bored child during a company sponsored event.

i simply don't think i can take the toll of reading about a young innocent haymitch getting his entire world destroyed by the capital and read that knowing he spends most of the rest of his life alone, depressed, watching more and more kids die and drowning it all in alcohol.

i'm sure Suzanne is gonna go something fantastic with the story but I'm not sure i can watch

Katniss and Peeta, so totally not spying on Gale and his wife from their house on purpose while they argue about who’s ruining family dinner at Haymitch’s:

“Would it kill you to just let us have one nice dinner?”

“He started it!”

“He’s old!”

Katniss or Peeta, take your pick:

“Oh wow, she’s laying into him!”

“Shut UP! They’ll hear us!”

Gale and his wife again:

“‘Have some respect, boy’ who does he think he is? My father? Please.”

“This is his house! And your mother is happy, can we please just enjoy our dinner? It isn’t our place to say anything on her choice in men.”

“Men? A man should be able to walk down the street without getting winded! He can’t even do that!”

Katniss and Peeta again:

“I mean, he does have a point”

“Shh!”

(Hehe, I posted it @vasilissadragomir ! It was just too funny!)

Me, writing my characters into an impossibly complicated situation: now THIS has drama... threat... intrigue...energy...the genius of it all!

Me, realizing I'm the one who has to then get them out of said impossibly complicated situation: I am a Fool and a Jester

I adore the parallels between Peeta and Caesar. On that first interview night, Caesar saw someone who managed to get the crowd to their seat's edge in much the same way as he can. He's likely only seen that a few times in his career & that made something with this character in how he views and perceives Peeta.

While I theorise that he saw Peeta winning that whole thing on that very night, meeting him again & again in front of a camera was seeing a genius bounce off of another genius to watching a kid deteriorate in front of his eyes.

I think more than once before the war began, Caesar must have seen something in Peeta that resembled himself. There was this kid with so much talent and charisma that he could have given Caesar a run for it had he been born in the Capitol.

What did that do to Caesar? To look at a kid from the Districts and have that kid stare back? Did he recognise a younger version of himself in him—separated only by place of birth in how their chances played out? And how must it have felt to watch that mirror deteriorate in front of him?