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[looking at the first draft that I'm starting second draft edits on] Well this is timely.
Genuinely, there is no worse part of the writing process for me than revising the first draft. (I always print my first drafts because it helps me see what's there rather than what I think should be there.)
And getting into writing novels has made it SO MUCH WORSE. This fucker is 258 pages, God help me.
Update: some co editors are helping create a less stressful work environment
Genuinely, there is no worse part of the writing process for me than revising the first draft. (I always print my first drafts because it helps me see what's there rather than what I think should be there.)
And getting into writing novels has made it SO MUCH WORSE. This fucker is 258 pages, God help me.
Co editor now markedly unhelpful
Genuinely, there is no worse part of the writing process for me than revising the first draft. (I always print my first drafts because it helps me see what's there rather than what I think should be there.)
And getting into writing novels has made it SO MUCH WORSE. This fucker is 258 pages, God help me.
Me: Hey internet, how long should I wait before following up with an agent about their request for a full manuscript? The Internet: minimum 3 months Me:
One of the many, many things that AI has completely fucking ruined is job hunting. It is apocalyptically terrible job hunting right now.
In 2022, I applied to 127 jobs and interviewed with 17 companies to get my previous gig - which is about a 14% interview rate.
This year (after getting laid off in April), I have applied for 83 jobs and interviewed with two companies - an interview rate of 3.6%.
And lest you think I'm doing a spray and pray, I very much am not. I'm being highly selective in what I apply to - it's just impossible to stand out when hiring processes are being flooded with AI-generated resumes. (To say nothing of the number of companies straight up posting fake jobs rn)
In the same time period I've applied to all of these jobs, I've had a higher success rate hearing back from literary agents (28%) than I have applying to jobs.
Which honestly is fucking wild. Say what you want about the accessibility of publishing, but it shouldn't be easier to find a literary agent than to get a first-round job interview.
Snippet from Book 2: Since his mom was out, Corey sent her a text saying that he was heading to Yulia's, then messaged Yulia to say he wasn't feeling well and was staying home that evening. With any luck, he'd be back before they found out he'd lied to both of them.
tfw you're still working on a second draft of a novel and you have the almost undeniable urge to write fanfic of your own novel because you've got Some Trans Shit To Work Through
The thing that helped me go from "no motivation to write" to being on track to have written 200K words of fiction in one year was unlocking
the power of spite
by reminding myself that writing cozy stories of successful queer romance where nobody dies and everyone gets a happy ending will really piss off the fascists.
My cat insists on "helping me" edit
Am I the only person who hates editing first drafts more than any other part of writing?
I'm 80% done with editing the first draft of this novel and I'm honestly, genuinely in hell. Forcing myself to finish feels like peeling my skin off.
Update: my co-editors are providing moral support
Am I the only person who hates editing first drafts more than any other part of writing?
I'm 80% done with editing the first draft of this novel and I'm honestly, genuinely in hell. Forcing myself to finish feels like peeling my skin off.
Things I have Googled while writing fiction recently: * History of foot orthotics * When were wrist watches invented * Do lesbians hate beards * Puffin symbolism * Fancy word for sucking up * Boring historical subjects * Slutty dandy fashion * Can crows eat pizza
FINISHED MARKING UP THE MANUSCRIPT
Am I the only person who hates editing first drafts more than any other part of writing?
I'm 80% done with editing the first draft of this novel and I'm honestly, genuinely in hell. Forcing myself to finish feels like peeling my skin off.
I would like to add:
🚗 being stuck in traffic 🚗
Why would I need plagiarism software to brainstorm ideas if I already have:
💻Daydreaming during work💻
💤Insomnia💤
✨The Shower✨
AND
Info-dumpling my poor mom like
Update: WELP. IT HAPPENED.
Apparently I'm writing a multi-chapter fanfic of characters from a novel that hasn't been published yet to work through That Trans Shit idk
---
[Set in the universe of Community Witch - my queer polyamorous romance novel that I'm currently working on getting published.] Dee jumped as Corey dropped onto the couch beside them, having been too lost in thought to register that he had returned from his errand.
"So," he said ominously.
Dee looked at the sketchbook in their lap and winced at the blank page staring up at them. "Yes?"
Their partner patiently took the sketchbook and set it on the coffee table, forcing Dee to look up at him. "You're doing that thing again," he admonished gently. "Where you have a crisis and refuse to talk to anyone about it."
"I don't... I mean. It's not--"
Corey gave them a Look. "You do," he said irritably, tapping his chest in an oblique reminder of their magical bond. "And even just getting the edges of whatever it is you're worrying about is enough to give me a headache. So stop shutting me out and just... talk to me?"
Dee's resistance crumbled at the softness in his infuriatingly beautiful brown eyes. "Is Yulia...?"
"She'll be working outside for a while, but we could go upstairs if you like."
Dee nodded jerkily, the thought of being interrupted by the old woman who had essentially adopted them both still somehow completely overwhelming.
Corey's lips twitched into a smile as he abruptly slung them over his shoulder, lifting them effortlessly to carry them toward the stairs. Dee laughed despite themself and didn't bother to pretend, as they usually did, that they didn't enjoy it.
Once upstairs, he tossed them onto the bed before kicking the door behind him. However, when Dee stretched provocatively and batted their eyes flirtatiously, he just settled onto the bed next to them with a look that said he wasn't going to fall for their stalling tactics this time.
There was a long, horrible silence.
"This is the part where you say things," Corey finally prompted.
- - -
Dee felt as if they'd been pounded flat and hung out to dry by the time they were done crying. Once they'd cleaned themself up, they lay listlessly in Corey's arms, too physically miserable to really feel any of their emotions.
"So. Wanting to do more transition," Corey prompted. "What does that mean?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Dee confessed. "I know that I want a dick, but I don't want surgery. Eighty percent satisfaction rate isn't high enough. And. I think I want top surgery. But I'm not sure." They paused to take a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not sure I want to give up what it feels like when you. Um. Touch them."
Corey made the thoughtful noise that Dee had long since learned to interpret as his "processing" sound. When he finally spoke, his tone was cautious. "You might not need surgery. I could... if you wanted, that is. Look into using magic?"
Dee blinked. "I thought you didn't--"
"I don't." He grimaced. "I mean, witchcraft doesn't work for that kind of thing. But I know some very highly placed fae who, as you may remember, owe me some pretty fucking big favors."
Dee couldn't help but goggle at him. "And you'd be willing to use them... for me?"
"I want you to be happy," Corey repeated earnestly. "Just." He smiled and brushed a stray hair away from their eye. "We're talking about fae, so the devil is very much in the details here. You'd need to take time to decide what you do and don't want."
Dee nodded. "I will. And." They picked anxiously at his shirt. "You'll still want to have sex with me? If that's what I want?"
"No surgery means no nerve damage, which means playing with your nipples will still be just as fun. Not to mention..." Corey smiled wolfishly. "Getting to figure out what makes you come all over again sounds pretty hot."
Dee laughed tremulously as the tight knot of anxiety inside them finally began to loosen. "I should have known you'd get hot and bothered about getting to do more research."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Corey shot back, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "There are so many questions that need answering. How will you feel about handjobs? Blowjobs? Do you still want me to fuck you, or would you rather fuck me?"
Dee's mouth went dry as they were hit with a sudden mental image of Corey moaning in pleasure as their cock slid into him - something they hadn't even known they wanted until he said it.
"See?" he said smugly, pulling them down into a long slow kiss. "Research is great."
tfw you're still working on a second draft of a novel and you have the almost undeniable urge to write fanfic of your own novel because you've got Some Trans Shit To Work Through
Me, finishing a first draft: Yes. This is very good. This time, I have created something perfect.
[several weeks later, coming back to do edits]
Me: Jesus Christ.
Fucking hell
Yes. This. Forever.
the ever terrifying and exhausting cycle of “i don’t want to share my writing bc it feels disheartening when not many people are interested in it” and “i have to post the writing for people to become interested in it”
Me, a writer trying to do social media:
🗣: Writers need to have social media presence!
Me:
I think Tumblr is okay for now, I like it over here🫶
Apparently I'm writing a multi-chapter fanfic of characters from a novel that hasn't been published yet to work through That Trans Shit idk
Part 2 is up on AO3!
Kissing, as it usually did, led to other things. (Even after more than two years together Corey and Dee still struggled to keep their hands off one another when given the opportunity.) Corey was almost unbearably sweet as he undressed Dee, asking if they'd wanted to leave their binder on (they didn't) and urging them to tell him if something felt wrong.
However, while Dee wouldn't have said that anything felt wrong, exactly, neither did it feel right. Corey was doing all the things that used to drive them wild, but the physical sensations felt as if they were coming from a million miles away. As if they were happening to someone else. Their body gasped and moaned at his touch, but it didn't feel like it meant anything.
Read the whole thing on AO3
Read Part 1 here