When You Think Editing Your Old Fanfic From When You Were 15 Is Gonna Be A Breeze Because How Bad Can

When you think editing your old fanfic from when you were 15 is gonna be a breeze because how bad can it be, but it's actually hard cause you're having to rewrite parts and add new scenes 😭

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 4.2k~

warnings: violence/mild gore, war, death, prostitution (living at a brothel), strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 2nd chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝘄𝗼 | 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲

"𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑹𝑼𝑵!"

        The world stopped moving. Screams of those running for their lives muted, only her shallow breath was heard. The metallic taste of his blood sunk between her gums as Sylvia sat there. Unable to process, unable to move, unable to breathe.

        "Sylvia! What are you doing? We are under attack!" A pair of hands violently shook the girl from her stiffened position. It's Brianne again. "Here, let's put on your scarf and draw less attention. We must—"

        Sylvia pushed Brianne to hold Yanis' lifeless body in her arms. Fire burned his flesh clean off his skull, made him unrecognizable and no longer beautiful. Tugging him free, she was jerked violently by a man on a horse with a fist full of Brianne's black curls. Because of her grip on Sylvia's arm, forced her over the wooden bench onto her back, wheezing out a breath. Yanis continued to burn and Brianne's screams grew distant before she was silenced.

        Another tugged Sylvia to her feet and saw it was her mother. Not a sound was heard from her moving lips until Sylvia forced herself to zone out of the chaos and focus on her voice. 

        “Sylvia, we must go now! We run for the woods until we reach the sand and then the sea. Just as planned. Do you hear me? Are you hurt?" She smeared the blood off her face and checked her body for visible wounds, relieved none were to be found.

        "N-no, I'm fine. But Yanis. . . "

        She followed her tearful gaze to the unrecognizable body. His clothes were partially recognizable though. 

        “I’m sorry,” her mother apologized, though she sounded far from it. At least for her daughter she pretended to care even if Sylvia saw through it. “He was good in many ways, but life must carry on. We are no longer safe here. They will burn us down with the city if we aren't quick."

        She took her mother's hand and ran.

        The blazing fire of screams trapped inside their homes burned bright and warm against their skin as they ran through the tight alleyway to avoid the main roads of death and terror. Her loose braids were thick of residue raining the sky, lungs thick of smoke and the rotten stench of men, women, and children gut down, given no chance to fight for their home or run to safety.

        Sylvia caught a glimpse of their invaders, but they wore the colors of Dorne. The colors of their home, attacking their people. She never grew an interest in politics as her mother had, but knew their lord was a big-mouth greed with plans to break faith with his allies for their enemies. It was only a matter of time before someone raised their blade at his neck.

        A knight rushed between their secure hold and swung his steel sword. Though his presence took them off guard, Sylvia's mother acted swiftly and pushed her against a horse-less wagon filled with ale crates, seconds from slicing her head clean off. He dared to swing again all while she swallowed the churn pushing up her throat and struggled to gain control of her double vision.

        She shouldn't have drunk as much as she did. She shouldn't have trusted Yanis the way she did. She should've known this would happen and been prepared from the start, but none of them did.

        With a gasp, Sylvia pushed off the wagon to the ground just in time. His sword got stuck in the crates leaking a puddle of ale. The knight then noticed her uncovered hair, but it didn't change the faith in his heart. "Fucking white-haired bitch." He spat, still struggling to pull out his sword.

        Sylvia's mother revealed a dagger hidden in the band around her exposed thigh and jammed it deep into the tissues of his neck. Blood spluttered like a river as the blade sliced across and he fell to his knees, suffocating on his own blood, then on his face as death met him. Sylvia was too stunned to speak.

        She knew her mother was stronger than others aside from her toned muscles and bones ceasing to age, but never knew how strong of a person she was until now.

        Wiping the dagger clean of blood, her mother chuckled at Sylvia's stunned expression. "What? Did you think you were the only who has killed a man before?" 

        Sylvia took her offered hand to her feet. "I hunt animals, not men."

        "Animals are no different. They just don't speak our language or pay to fuck."

        A herd of knights charged in their direction with bloodied spears and swords. There were too many to take and Sylvia's skill set wasn't prepared to fight against combative human beings. Her mother must have known her fears or shared the same sentiment because she demanded they split up for a better chance at survival, but so she could lure them away.

        Sylvia grabbed her hand before she took off running. "No. I don't want to split up. Just come with me." She begged. "Please, ma, let us run together."

        She eyed the knights gaining closer by the second, physically torn between her choices that may change their faiths forever. Any hope Sylvia had left dispersed itself when her mother removed her tight grip and caressed a sweaty palm against her cheeks. A tear was captured.

        "I will find you. I will always find you because you are my daughter. Mine. We’re forever bonded, don't forget that.” Her mother's smile faltered with thought. "And if I do not make it. . ."

        "Don't speak like that!"

        "We must be realistic! Here, take this. Keep it safe.” A heavy pouch was placed in Sylvia’s hand. She didn’t need to look through it to know it was money. Possibly more than enough to own land with working staff. “I’ve been saving toward your future behind Madam’s back. Thought if your father wouldn’t come then we go to him and demand his acknowledgment. But this is yours to have and more than enough to live comfortably, wherever in the world may you go.”

        Sylvia cried. “Just come with me. Let’s see my father and demand it together. Like we planned.”

        Instead of tears, her mother smiled as warmly as the first smile Sylvia ever recognized. Full of love and care, pure happiness and free of stress. “If I can’t find you and the Gods decide to take me as I am, I will wait for you afterward however long it takes. Now go.” She shouted. “GO!”

        Sylvia almost tripped over the corpse when her mother pushed at her. She staggered backward—refusing to leave her but to remember every detail of her face—before clutching the pouch to her chest and ran for her life. Away from her.

        She found the woods and realized she wasn’t the only one trying to escape or prevent others from escaping. Knights weren't in her view but their sharp blades ending the lives of innocent people and children who had yet grown in their shoes were heard silencing them. It seemed most were running to the nearest village for sanctuary, but Sylvia continued toward the sea not to stray from the original plan.

        She wished to help, but even she couldn’t help herself. Having drunk too much ale to navigate through the woods with a sober mindset; bumping into trees, scraping pointy bushes, and tripping over rocks and sand hills. There was this buzzing in her ears aside from her pounding heart. Sweat poured Yanis' blood down her face, and her eyes dashed from one tree to another casting dark shadows, losing importance of the mission.

        But she kept running.

        Through the woods, to the sand, then to the sea.

        "Through the woods, to the sand, to the sea." Sylvia chanted like a song to help redirect her focus.

        Tempted to wait for her mother to catch up, Sylvia pushed forward. No looking back. She mustn’t look back. Pushing through her tight dry lungs until the emptiness of sand awaited her arrival up ahead, ecstasy flourished. Through the woods, to the sand, to the sea.

        A nearby scream as terrifying as the next had startled Sylvia. Her feet started dancing all over the place being thrown off-tracked, and the one second she peered over her shoulder to the shriek of a child, a lowered branch up ahead, knocked her out cold.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

        𝑾𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑼𝑷, 𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨.

        A prolonged groan rumbled through Sylvia’s chest upon her mother’s soothing voice calling to her. She gripped at her throbbing head and forced her eyes shut at a burning light like it was held to her face, a constant swaying created a sickening pit deep in her belly. 

        Wake up, my child.

        "She is up." Announced an unrecognizable voice.

        The wet pressing of a cloth dabbed her temple. "Ma?" Sylvia squinted at the figure of a woman leaning over with a face shaped like her mother's but with curly strands fitting above the ears, shorter and looser than her mother's.

        The longer Sylvia stared, the more her features transfigured from her high cheekbones and plump lips to an oval face with light freckles like someone flickered sand at her face and it stuck. Tannish skin and eyes of mixed green were filled with genuine concern, startled when her eyes shot open and wide.

       Sylvia sat up with a scream, her head instantly wavering as her brain shifted, so it felt like. The woman scattered back with a gasp, holding her pregnant belly, and hid behind her husband who sat protectively in front of her. They were the least of her problems when confirming the answer to motion sickness—they were at sea. Miles and miles away from land where everything appeared the same.

        Sylvia's heart dropped with panic. "Where am I? H-how did I get here? Who are—"

        She turned over the nearest edge of the boat to relieve herself of that churn choking up her throat. Living on land near water all her life and never once boarded a boat was ironic. There was never time or an opportunity to explore the option. Her mother didn't like her hanging around the dock, neither did Yanis, and it was unsafe with all kinds of grimy people lingering about. Had she been stubborn enough to seek her own opinion, she would’ve already seen the world. But to be surrounded by an enormous body of water with no chance of escaping having not learned how to swim was panicking too. Worse even.

        The woman handed her a wet cloth, the same that was cleansing her face. They were clearly no threat to her so Sylvia took it with a soft thanks and wiped her mouth clean. A deep reddish color stained the cloth and knew it wasn’t her blood.

        “I am Mar’kel. This my husband, Jorio.” She introduced while rubbing her belly big enough to burst. “And this, Malero if boy. Or Nilora if girl.”

        Jorio touched on the other questions asked earlier. “We sailed to Toland from the Free Cities for a new start, only days later to escape our new home in seek of another. That is how we found you.” He continued after a short beat, more fluent than his wife. “I wanted to leave you behind but my wife begged me to carry you. She believes your white hair signifies something special. You’re lucky to be alive.”

        My hair? That caught Sylvia off guard. She didn’t even want to think of the state of her hair.

        Mar'kel perked at the last sentence and scooted closer. "Yes, I hear stories of white-haired Gods. Never seen so close, but powerful people I know. And they ride dragons, yes? Do you have dragons?" Her eyes lit up like a child being told a bedtime story.

        Sylvia's mother spoke of Dragonriders. Said her father came in on one; bigger than the moon, a roar strong enough to shake one's organs. A terrifying day for small-minded people who never believed in such creatures existing.

        "I’ve never seen a dragon before," Sylvia told her honestly and Mar’kel frowned.

        "But your skin—it's dragon scales, yes? And hair is white, yes? And your eyes. . . "

        Sylvia grazed along her scales, out in the open to be viewed. She still heard her mother’s voice telling her to stay cover and keep her head down.

        "Yes. All true. I was born like this, but still. . . no dragons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

        Mar'kel offered a small smile and went shuffling in their things. It was then she remembered the pouch her mother gave her and almost had a panic attack until she discovered the bulky brown thing at her side. Aside from silver and gold coins, a beautifully crafted necklace with a red ruby pendant and gold bangles lay inside. Sylvia believed it was her mother’s, as were the bangles she used to play with on her arms, or that her father gifted the necklace, and wanted to feel close by slipping it on. 

        Jorio assured they hadn’t stolen a thing and weren’t thieves. For now, Sylvia believed his word.

        Dizzy from looking out into the endless sea, Sylvia struggled to fight the churn scratching up her throat again. The wet cloth was still clenched in her fist in case she threw up again. "How far are we from Toland?" She asked. The boat was so small that she could not fit in her space.

        "Quite far," said Jorio, navigating his compass to peddle in the right direction.

        "Where do you plan to go?"

        "Not back to The Free Cities. Yronwood, maybe. They have high valleys. Closer to sea, and I hear there is good work there. . ." Jorio noticed the frown painted on the girl's face and inquired further. "Do you have family in Yronwood? Or. . . back in Toland?"

        "My mother. She was there with me during the attack and promised she’d be right behind me. . .but she is not here.” She swallowed thickly, blinking away tears. “I am, though."

        Jorio nodded in understanding. "Sorry it was us who found you and not your mother. I can only carry so much at my old age." He said, not that Sylvia held it against him. "You think, if she made it out, she would know you were heading to Yronwood? She could meet us there."

        Sylvia’s gaze narrowed as she muttered, “I doubt it.”

        If her mother made it out alive, which Sylvia prayed she did, Yronwood wouldn’t cross her mind first. There was nothing there. It held no value to their lives. Since a young girl, all they ever spoke of was the great King’s Landing. It’s where Kings rule outside of Dorne and where her father resided. Or DragonStone, as mentioned countless times before. If she made it to either one of those places, the chances of her mother finding her there were greater. And she would wait for her.

        Sylvia cleaned herself of Yanis’ blood, seeped beneath her nails and used the ocean’s reflection to wash her face. The salty water dried her skin and felt as though the sun was slow-roasting her, but it was better than holding a constant reminder of a man she loved. She scrubbed at her clothes but it only made it worse, so she left it be. Mar’kel offered half a broken bread, smiling brightly. She didn’t take it at first so the woman placed it in her hand anyway and told her to eat and gain strength, that it should be enough to last until they landed in Yronwood. In the opposite direction from King’s Landing.

        Days seemed much longer traveling by sea and the sun made it even worse. It didn’t take long until Sylvia grew used to the wavering motion, especially on a somewhat full stomach. She rested along the boat’s edge, dancing her fingers along the current crashing against them. She could lose herself in the deep blue sea, almost black as the sun finally started to set in. It took her mind off her mother and left space to plan her next move in Yronwood. She had enough money to board another—and bigger—boat heading to King’s Landing.

        "There's a ship!" Jorio announced.

        Pulling back her hand being violently crashed upon, Sylvia sat up from her resting position to a large ship floating in their direction. She was quick to cover her hair and hid the brown pouch in her boot. Neither needed to flag their attention as they were spotted immediately being the only little boat in view. Even the current pulled them close.

        "State your house." A knight dressed in grey armor that was nearly white stated once the ship was close enough for him to be heard. Compared to their boat, it was taller than any structure with enough power to flip their boat by the waves it created.

        “We are just passing by.” Jorio said.

        “This far out? Should a storm come in the night, your boat will be shredded by the waves.”

        “We’ll make due.”

        Jorio tried paddling away but the current kept them stuck to the ship.

        “Looks like you need a ride. Real food and nice comfy sheets for the pregnant woman,” humor thick on the knight’s tongue. “State your house.” He asked with more demand as though their help would only be spared should their houses align.

        Mar'kel and Jorio grew silent, the same as Sylvia.

        They came from no house of a certain status, a kingdom that thrived on its own. Sylvia was raised in Dorne so she stood with them, but their armor was not of Dornish colors nor were their accent. And because her interest in politics was little, she didn’t know the kind of relationship outsiders had with Dorne. The last war fought was within the country against their own people as it’d been for a while after countless wars with other regions. 

        Sylvia lifted her head to identify the knight who spoke. The ship was too tall to view their banner and foggy to set their attire behind a kingdom with stories that had been told. Dorne was no friend to most, a region that could never be conquered no matter the treaties placed. Respected for their bravery, loved for their trades, but not as equally feared.

       Thinking carefully of her answer, Sylvia then foolishly went with the first thought on her mind. “House Targaryen.” She stated with confidence despite her nerves. Either it would get them killed or lend another day to live. Her chances were more certain than any house within Dorne, so she thought. 

        The knight’s expression widened with surprise and disappeared to inform whomever the ship belonged to. 

        Sylvia bit her tongue, feeling Jorio’s stare. Almost convinced her thoughtless statement had gotten them killed, a worn-out ladder was tossed over the ship. Jorio stabilized it before helping Mar’kel climb up first. Sylvia climbed up second with Jorio right behind, carrying the rest of what he could on his back. 

        A sword at her neck halted Sylvia once touching the wooden surface. Quite close the reflection wasn’t as appealing and one wrong move could have her bleeding out to death. Muffled cries came from Mar’kel being torn from her husband, forcing Jorio to react until a knight aimed his sword at her pregnant belly. Only then, he headed with caution. The closer knight holding Sylvia hostage against the edge tossed her to the ground, next to Jorio who pulled his wife protectively in his arms after she had been released.

        They were now surrounded by a bunch of white and few red armor. Fuck.

        The floor creaked beneath a short fat man with a head of black and grey hair long to his neck. A metal pin of a hand holding a crown glimmered against his dark clothing, and Syliva lowered her gaze when his presence stood before them.

        “There hasn’t been a Targaryen along the Sea of Dorne for years now. In fact, I am in close contact with their house, almost like family, aware of all their long and short travels. And yet,” his gruff voice held much authority and was gutter deep. “I don’t recall logging any recent travels this far out, nor can I say your faces regard familiarity. So, tell me, who was it? Unless you don’t wish to sleep with the fish for impersonating your king, speak.”

        Mar’kel and Jorio held no shame in turning their heads toward Sylvia without sparing a word. Blood could’ve spilled by how hard she bit her tongue.

        His boots stood before her. “So it was you. Who are you, boy? Or. . .girl in men’s clothing?” A hint of muse was found in his tone.

        Sylvia needed to be smart about this. The man seemed close to the crown and possibly her father, but she was no liar. Not entirely. She may not be full-blooded or raised in a lovely castle dressed in silk gowns and eating sweet cakes with high-born ladies, but her father’s blood was hers as she was his child. This might also be her golden ride to King’s Landing, or her last breath.

        Her pulse pounced through her fingertips as Sylvia removed her scarf, revealing her messy braided hair she once was taught to hide from the world. She then lifted her head to the old man with ocean blue eyes and a bushy beard shaping his face, exposing the scales along her skin and the color of her eyes.

        “I am Sylvia, born on the soils of Dorne, and my father is Daemon Targaryen." A collective of gossip flourished the ship, and the man only tilted his head with a calculative expression. "I have lived in Toland all my life until we were caught in the middle of a civil war. This kind family took me aboard their boat until you found us. I dare not impersonate your king or his house, but no lies have yet been spared. I only ask you let them go and allow me safe travels to King’s Landing and I’ll be out your hairs.”

        “Should I allow you safe travels, what is your next step when arriving at King's Landing?” He asked.

        The plan was simple. At least it sounded simple to Sylvia. She would buy land or a nice home with her own room and living space to reside in until her mother found her. 

        Unlike the original plan, she wasn’t sure if meeting her father was something she wanted. He was a stranger to her despite many stories told, and there’s a possibility he wouldn’t want her around. All the letters sent and not one response proved he wanted nothing to do with Syliva and her mother. Why ruin his peace now? 

        “That is for me to figure out when I get there,” Sylvia said, and the old man raised his brow with slightly parted lips and a soft huh.

        He appeared rather intrigued with information of her background, unable to deny her Targaryen-like features that were one of a kind, and said, “Well then, Sylvia, Sands of Dorne, said bastard daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you are welcomed on my ship and your friends are free to go.” He motioned the guards to release Jorio and Mar’kel, his eyes never leaving Sylvia as he stepped closer. “King’s Landing isn’t safe for a woman of your youth and physical appearance as said bastard of Prince Daemon Targaryen. However, I do believe I can make the proper arrangements to ensure your living situation is. . .comfortable.”

        Sylvia eyed the man when she stood. He didn't look knocked on the head and was confident as he spoke. Given the ship, the authority he had to command knights and permit her company, he was a man of wealth. And with that came power, and a price for his kindness. 

        “What do you want?” She asked directly, assessing the greedy look in his eyes.

        He smiled with a wicked touch. “That is for me to decide when we arrive.”

        “Just who are you again?”

        “How nice of you to finally ask,” he said and then offered a short bow of his head. “I am Haron Baratheon and Lord Hand to King Aul Targaryen of the seven kingdoms. And I believe we will be of good use to one another quite soon.”

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read more here

black women as vampires

Me as an Ao3 reader: I'll just leave a little comment saying it was good. Don't want to creep them out by being too enthusiastic!

Me as an Ao3 writer: Please tell me my fic destroyed your entire soul. Please tell me I made you cry real tears. Please tell me how absolutely unhinged my writing made you feel.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐃

— a vulnerable moment between Klaus Mikaelson and his somewhat mortal daughter, Deena Salée. The two have been struggling with their relationship since coming into his life, that it’s time to sit down and communicate to understand each other best even if it’s not something Klaus is used to.… (there’s more to this scene) link below

Book one of Warm-Blooded

(season 2 of the originals)

Chapter 15 | The Original Tribrid

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)