As Someone In An Extremely Small Fandom, It Feels So Good To Have Anyone Comment. Regulars Feel Even

As someone in an extremely small fandom, it feels so good to have anyone comment. Regulars feel even more incredible, because the insight to what bits they liked for each chapter and the validation of someone caring about your art is extraordinary.

Do regular commenters know just how valued they are? I mean, obviously ALL commenters are valued, but as a fic writer when you’ve got a group of familiar usernames and profile pics who pop up again and again like old friends to share their thoughts and appreciation on one of your fics, that’s so special. I hope my regular commenters know that I remember them, and I recognise them each time they come back, and I am so incredibly grateful for them not only leaving comments, but leaving them time and time again. I hope they know they’re making someone, somewhere, smile.

🦀 Kudos Crab 🦀

If you are scrolling and see Kudos Crab, your fics will be blessed!

You will get good comments and kudos!

You will beat your writers block!

GO AND WRITE!

This is a friendly reminder to never, ever publish your book with a publishing company that charges you to publish with them. That is a vanity press, which makes money by preying on authors. They charge you for editing, formatting, cover art, and more. With most of these companies, you will never seen a cent of any royalties made from sale of your book. A legitimate publishing company only makes money when you make money, they will never charge you to publish with them. If a company approaches you and says "Hey, we'll publish your book, just pay us X amount of money," tell them to go fuck themself and block them.

I am screaming! I love this premise and need more!

“I’m asking Theodore Nott to the Ball,” said Hermione, dumping her books on the desk. Ginny raised a brow.

“Do you even know who that is?”

“Oh, shush." Hermione took out an emerald green cover from the pile. “I found his sketchbook. The one that's always on his desk."

“Must be some wicked sketches if they've breached your Quidditch-player fever.” Ginny snatched it.

“I suffer from no such ailment,” she scoffed, but her smile gave her away. More seriously, she said, “I’m lonely, Gin.”

All jokes aside, Ginny felt it, too. “But what's so special about Theo Nott?” She didn’t get it. Hermione could have literally anybody.

“Look at the drawings.” Hermione grinned.

“You snooped?” Ginny tutted. “Naughty, Miss Granger.”

She flipped the cover, licking her fingertip to turn the thick pages with an exaggerated flair. “Shut up,” she cried a few pages in. “Shut up!”

“I know,” said Hermione. “There’s maybe a dozen of them in there.”

“And this doesn’t seem creepy to you?”

Hermione shrugged. “They’re harmless. Look, they’re all from a distance. See that one in the classroom? I think it’s from Transfiguration. My hair was braided like that one morning. They’re rather beautiful.”

Ginny sang out, “He liiikes you.”

She handed the sketchbook back, and Hermione began casting spells over it.

“What are you doing?”

“Locking it up.”

“Not only did you snoop, but you also broke his privacy charms?” Ginny’s grin widened.

"I'm Head Girl," she reasoned. "Simply monitoring."

Ginny kicked Hermione under the table, giving her the hurry-up-and-get-on-with-it eyes. Theo Nott had just entered the library with Malfoy, who seemed to have come from Quidditch practice.

Hermione finished casting her spells, then tousled her hair, pretending to study.

As the Slytherins passed by their table, Hermione called out innocently, “Theodore?”

Theo turned at the sound of his name, appearing confused, or maybe distrustful, when he realised it was Hermione. Odd for a bloke supposedly obsessed with her.

“I found your sketchbook,” she said, holding it up.

Malfoy stepped forward, hand outstretched. “That’s mine, actually.”

(340 words, prompt: that's mine actually, cross-posted from twitter, now illustrated by DamnOverdrive)

Chapter 56: Cabin Fever

Life as usual resumes in the safehouse after their weekend away, but Claire struggles with increasing restlessness.

"Also, here's my soul."

Rep: "Ma'am, that's not necessary."

"I wish to become one of the puppets. Let me sell my soul and join the Henson Company!"

*pulls out a different contact*

Rep, shaking their head: "Why do they sell it so quickly? Every time... We didn't even offer that service anymore."

Reblog if, no matter the size of the role, you would agree to work with the Muppets if offered the chance to do so, no questions asked