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pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow · 2 years

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WIP WIP WIP WIP!

Early Concept

Some doodles/mockups

Current progress and some details.

My major plan for the moment is to find my brown markers (seriously, how do those things keep disappearing) and figure out what my background for the teeth/grin is gonna look like.

Ngl, I'm really proud of this one! kinda annoyed that the 1 in 2013 is a little too close to the 0, but I think I did some nice work on the nectars and blood splatters. (More details/breakdown below cut).

Escape From Furnace was one of the first books that I was super-passionate about, even though I wasn't online for the first while. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of stuff I loved and wanted to do bigger deep-dives into, but it was a kinda interesting perspective for me since I'm Jewish and the main villain is, y'know, a fucking Nazi.

It's kind of a weird feeling where on the one hand, watching the fandom was what actually shoved me online and on to Tumblr. Otoh, the obsession w/Warden Cross was kinda creepy to me, and it felt like almost everyone conveniently pushed to the side that he wasn't just a Nazi in the past, but kept up the ideals, modeled a prison on them, and constantly talks about "superior races" and "wiping out the inferior scum" and such.

Seeing the rest of the fandom, especially the headcanon that Zee is Jewish, resonated a lot more, and kept my head on this vague idea of breaking down how much that would change the narrative of the story (consider that Zee is the only person we know for sure is immune to the nectar, add that the version of nectar used in the Furnace is Cross's variation, multiply by how both Cross and nectarized Alex talk about Zee in Death Sentence and Fugitives. There's also the whole 'blondes w/blue eyes who keep responding esp well to the nectar' shtick with Alex and Gary).

So this idea's been rattling around in my head for a while, obviously! I initially wanted to do two triangles with the three circles, superimposing an upside version of the Furnace's logo over itself to create the Star of David, but it looked kind of weird so I might come back to it later. For now, each triangle has it's own mini-scene or element starring. breakdown, top to bottom, left to right:

I initially wanted to draw the dog's face/jaws but it just wouldn't look right no matter what I did. It was switched out for the three different nectar strains we see in canon: The silver syringe full of Cross's blend, the berserker blood with specs of red, and the mostly black that's running through the tubes connecting Alfred Furnace to the machine.

Teeth: I'm honestly not quite sure where I'm going with this in the final draft, but teeth stick out to me throughout the book as one of those details we get to see characters more clearly. Donovan's smile, Kevin missing two front teeth, the berserkers, Bodie's grin, Cross's teeth like crooked tombstones, y'all get my point. But yeah, teeth.

Hands: Donovan's hand (bathed in gold, currently yellow because I don't have any gold markers rn), and Alex's reaching out to Donovan. The big scene, but also all of the smaller ones that came earlier, like in Lockdown.

Prison bars: There's something that sticks in my head about the bars and all of the numbers used, for the inmates and the cells and the three chipping rooms and the blacksuits and how I imagine at some point, you only remember yourself as a number. I'd hope that with his memories back, Alex wouldn't forget his name, but I'd argue that 2013834 (inmate number) still holds better memories than 208 (blacksuit number).

Eye: Another big motif. So many blue eyes, so many silver ones. I've kinda been sticking to only 4 colors for all of these except the panel with the hands, we're doing something with emotions and colors and the way the Furnace saps all hope here. Again, can't quite decide on a background yet.

Gas mask: A rough redraw of the one in Lockdown, the very first book of the series and, again, that little connection of Zee with the idea of him being Jewish and the canon detail that he would have been made into a wheezer if not for Cross.

The center: Their motto is nine words, two phrases. It looks somewhat awkward, but I think it works.

So yeah. I'm planning on finishing the colors and then seeing if I can figure out how to turn this into a patch on fabric or embroidery or something, but this is one of my favorite concepts and I'm glad I can finally bring it to life!

#escape from furnace #eff #eff this #zee hatcher #jewish tag #to clarify:#this isn't 'book is bad' it's 'wow do some of the plot themes change when we add this idea of zee being jewish'#and I'm fascinated by it #honestly I'd argue for all of it's flaws the series handled the concept decently well #didn't go into full detail but also didn't quite hand-wave it #and panetierre kinda tied it up nicely I think #but yeah baby I'm very proud of this #I wanna say I first saw the hc on soledadcatalina's blog but idk if that's where it began

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

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COLORS

A/N: No smut, sorry. Written for @princessstevens if she's silk still on tumblr. Based on this picture

"Kellan, call me when you get this," I say hanging up before walking into my building.

He never checks his voicemail so I send him a text too asking him to call me. We go to different schools, he's in the Bachelor's program at Brandman for Business and I'm at Alan Hancock for Art. I know he's probably driving right now or doing something. I remember when I met him, three months ago at Target of all places. I typically don't even shop at Target, I go to Walmart, but I was in there and so was he with his cute ass. I fell in love in the hair section. I was actually stalking him on my way to the body wash, but he was standing in the hair aisle getting conditioner for his thickass curly hair. We were a match made in heaven.

"Hey mama," I greet on my way to the kitchen to cook the pack of chicken sitting out in the sink.

"How was school? Take that trash bag out for me," she says before I can respond.

I look in the trash and change the bag, taking the old one to the chute before washing my hands in the empty side of the sink. The moment I rip open the pack of chicken and start washing it, Kellan calls.

"MAAAA, CAN YOU GET THAT?"

She wanders over fast and answers it having her own conversation with my man as I clean chicken. It sounds like they're talking about how his week has been, his classes, and something that's got ma laughing up a storm behind me. I didn't know Kellan was such a comedian. Something about this seems reversed. I keep waiting but I never get the phone so when I heat the oil and start dredging the chicken, I decide to butt into their conversation and ask.

"Uh, ma, can you put it on speaker so I can talk to him, he called to talk to me!" I start putting the chicken in the hot oil.

"Oh hold on, Kellan, my daughter is here getting her knickers in a twist," she mutters putting the phone on speaker. "I think she wants your attention now all to herself."

Kellan snickers. He and my mama are always teaming up on me like it's funny.

"I know you not laughing," I threaten at the phone, dropping chicken in the pan. "I've been trying to talk to you all day because I missed you but you wanna talk to my mama for-" I look at the time, "Five whole minutes."

"Awww, this baby.. she jealous," Kellan chuckles. "I think she mad you like me more than her."

"Keep acting like you tryna take my Mama from me, nigga. I ain't down with no incestuous shi-stuff," I pause genuinely mad. "You ain't finna be my man and act like my brother, I got a brother. That's nasty."

I don't know why I get mad, but I do. I love my mama. She's mine, not his.. I love Kellan, but he be annoying me for real with that shit because my mama gets too into it like she's not playing. She really does like him more than me. He doesn't understand that and keeps rubbing it in my face.

"You got one more time and you ain't coming over here no more."

"That's our mama's decision," he jokes. I cringe.

"Exactly," she adds.

I put the tongs down and walk out going to my room and shutting the door. I was gonna tell him about COLORS and invite him to come with me but he's pissed me off and now I don't want to talk to him. My mama doesn't even bring my phone right away, it's two more minutes of them still talking. When she brings it, I yell that I don't wanna talk to him. "Well finish the chicken," she directs. I do it.. but I'm still irritated.

"And then when he finally calls me back he doesn't even wanna speak to me. Too busy playing mama's boy to a woman who's not even his mama," I vent at the table watching Yaya's thinned lips stretch in silent judgement across from me. I know she doesn't agree with me, but she's not in my shoes.

"You gotta understand he's just getting comfortable. Your mom's probably trying to be accepting. He's your boyfriend."

"No." That's not it, it's not that simple. "He will dead call for her and ignore me. She doesn't care what I do in a day and I can't get her to look at my art for more than two seconds but he gets her undivided attention. He's only known her for three months."

"That's how it is sometimes," she shrugs. I shake my head.

"No. That's not how it is, and if it is I can't be doing this. No, ma'am."

Her finger raises and I shut up as she takes a call. I didn't even hear a ring, but based on her face she's not liking whoever it is on the phone or what they have to say. She has that stank face that she gets when someone's got her twisted. Meanwhile, the waitress pops back up.

"Ready to order or do you guys need a few more minutes?"

"You must got me fucked up," Yaya blurts causing the server's brow to raise as she looks from Yaya to me. She only asked what we were ordering.

"We're ready to order," I smile. Quickly she takes her pen from her pile of blonde hair.

"I'm not working Friday after I already said I needed that day off," Yays waves to me to order for her since she's on the phone. I know what she'd order. The server looks from her again back to me readying her paper and pen.

"She'll take the fried chicken with mac and collards. I'll take the house cheeseburger with fries.. thank you," I nod as she walks away. I take a sip of my iced tea, wiping the condensation from the glass onto my dress and leaning forward with my hands in my lap.

"Right, but I said it back in July so you'd know I'd need this Friday off. It's in writing, do I need to pull it up," Yaya threatens to whoever is on the phone. I wonder what's going on on Friday. "Yes, pull it up and look at the email.. uhuh.. Yes, so Fri-day I will NOT be there," she enunciates. "Correct… Uhuh, buh-bye!" She rolls her eyes and hangs up shaking her head at me and I know the frustration well, we work at the same Michael's. It's awesome, but our manager is very manipulative. I sip my tea thinking about it.

"You need to be the manager." I wish she were the manager.

"Pur!.. and Dean needs to go," she laughs sipping her coke. "How's your Fiverr going?"

"Oh girl I got some gigs, I've made about $110 from it so far."

"Okay! I'm on Upwork I made about $200."

"Damn. Well I'm looking at working at the Children's Museum for more money."

"True, I saw that position too.. but don't overextend yourself. I'm not.. because we still need to finish with these classes and get our art portfolios together and we ain't finna graduate late-tuh!"

I know, but I also need money.

When our food comes, we get refills on our drinks and that's when she comments on the restaurant, after she bites into her chicken. It's both of our first time coming in, but it's right near our college which is why we decided to give it a shot for lunch. It's called Urban Hangout and that's exactly what it looks like, a coffee shop to hang out in and just sit. The food is really good too.

"So what you got going on Friday," I ask dipping and shoving fries in my mouth one by one.

"Tuh, Friday? Nothing I just needed a day to myself and that's the day I'm taking," her lips pout when I laugh.

"That's smart! I'm glad you ain't let Dean try to sucker you like he be trying." I lean in. She's curling her finger like she needs to tell me something. "He's famous for shit like that -What," I whisper quickly. She waves her hand aggressively for me to stop talking.

"Meg.. you know that guy over there," her eyes flicker to my left. My head stays still but my eyes briefly follow hers to a quiet looking guy sitting at a table alone with an art pad and a beanie on covering his ears and eyebrows, eyes focused down as he draws.

"Mm-mm, no.. Never seen him in my life.."

"Well he keeps looking over here at you, I think he drawing you." She bites her chicken and sips her coke as I stare.

Me? Why he couldn't be drawing her, why does she assume it's me? I take another look at the guy but turn my head too far and end up making eye contact when he looks up. He looks different than I thought he would now that I can see more of his face. He blinks like he's waiting to see what I'm a do so I get up and sit across from him. He's really cute, though I got a man. There's nothing wrong with being nice, I tell myself.

"You go to Alan Hancock?"

The corner of his mouth lifts as he looks straight at me. He has long eyelashes and pretty, full kissable lips. I sit a little straighter. If I weren't already three months deep in a relationship I'd give him my number. He focuses back on his artpad, sketching, his eyes moving back and forth between my face and his paper with new energy. I look over at Yaya wondering if she sees what I see and she's smiling like she knows what I'm thinking. She knows my type, brown skin and bearded. He looks like he has a nice build under the loose shirt. And he draws.

"You speak..?" He doesn't respond. I'm starting to think he's deaf and cute. Maybe he can read lips, both sets. I wave and when he looks up, I point to my lips. "What's your name?" He only and smiles, his eyes creased at the corners, still sketching away.

I decide to just sit still and wait until he's done to see the picture, curious of his skill level. If he doesn't go to Hancock for art, then dammit he should.

Suddenly he stops, looks his page over seriously, and hands me the artpad across the table. He watches me for my reaction. It's a full rendering of my face in great detail and he's made me look beautiful. He's even got my negro nose with the piercing down to the shape of my eyebrows. My locs are accounted for and he put texture on them. Next to that is a full sketch of me sitting at my table, leaning onto the table with the straw in my mouth to drink. He's even got the print of my dress down. Only thing is he's added a realistic looking flower behind my ear in both pictures and I'm not wearing a flower. I look up briefly, curious.

His smile returns as he sees my head tilt with a question in my eyes about the flower. Going into his backpack beside him, he gently pulls out a lively bright golden yellow flower handing it to me. I look to Yaya, who looks equally surprised while I show off my flower. She's fawning.

"Is this how you pick up girls," I smirk smelling it. It's real and I'm geeked. I tuck it behind my ear like suggested by the drawing. Taking his pad, he writes a message on the page and hands it back to me.

24 hours of silence in memory of black women killed by police brutality. My older sister was one and she loved daffodils. I've been giving daffodils to black women all day. This is my last one.

I look up at his warm eyes but now I see traces of sadness.

"When did she die," I whisper unsure of whether to speak or write now. He takes the pad and writes.

2 years ago today.

My heart breaks for him and I hold my heart looking over at Yaya who has no clue what's going on. I'll have to fill her in when I get back over there. In the meantime, I do my best to communicate that I'm truly sorry for his loss.

"Can I have this," I point to the paper. He frowns comically shaking his head and takes his pad back writing again.

I'd rather keep it. I like how it came out.

Can't say I don't understand him as an artist because there are times when you look at your work and love it too much to let it go. Still, it is my face. He smiles seeing my disappointment. I nod deciding to let it go and stand to head back to my table. By the time I sit down, he's up with his things and leaving the cafe. I let Yaya into the loop and she sympathizes looking over to the space where he previously sat.

In class, my eisele faces the window and I start my under painting which is a wash of the background.

"How did you get yet another picture in the hall," I turn to ask Yaya after thinking about it for a good few minutes. She grins with her tongue out between her teeth.

"I keep telling you, taking outside classes and going to workshops really helps you develop in realism."

"I keep saying I'm going to," I sigh as I plop my brush in water. She sweeps her brush across her canvas back and forth.

"You're lazy. That's why you haven't had anything in the hall."

"No, but why can't I just practice and learn from the classes I'm already paying for," I groan. "Otherwise why am I paying?"

"Because you can't, suck it up. You want to be in the hall or you wanna be average?"

"I wanna make $200 on Upwork."

"Up your skill set and you can," she points to my canvas with her detail brush adding insult to injury.

"Bitch, I'm trying!" Honest, I am. I've improved on my own a great deal but I've still never sold like she has. Her art is in THE HALL.

At Allan Hancock College, only the best student work lines the white brick walls of the art halls. The best of the best make it to the glass display. Every visitor to the building had to pass through the art hall and without meaning to, they stop to admire the art almost without fail. Sometimes the art sells for prices upwards of $300. Colorful portraits, hyperrealistic paintings of still life and everyday objects.. Needless to say, the hall is the goal of every art student and the golden standard to aspire to.

"That's pretty," Francis smiles in passing on the way to his easel. He's referring to my self-portrait. I started with the background and now I'm painting my skin tone. Glancing over to his station, I move from my spot to take a look at his canvas.

"Aww, look at Gravy lil fat self!" He's painting his lil fat French bulldog. "Wait a minute... Francis, you got better!.."

"I went to a painting workshop this past weekend, it was a bring your dog paint and sip night. You should've seen all of the puppies! I met a few new people too, 100% reccomend."

"You talkin bout COLORS," April jumps in from behind. Instantly I look at Yaya and she looks at me.

"I love COLORS, I'm telling you, I go there all the time. I've learned so much skill-wise and every day they have something different going on," Francis says. "You ever been?" The question is to me, but before I can answer, April cuts in.

"Y'all need to go on a Saturday night," she smirks.

"I went Sunday, it was fun. Had a lil wine," Francis adds.

"Exactly, no.. Go Saturday Night it's portrait and figure drawing night but there's always a live model and 9 times out of 10 they're always fine." She goes to her portfolio and pulls a painting of a nude black woman. Her strong features are in great detail I notice as I appraise it. This could be in the hall too if she were serious.

"Damn, I been going the wrong day, sign me up," Sheena cuts in. I ain't even see her behind me. "I wanna go, but I wanna paint a woman," she says causing Francis to look back playfully.

"We know."

"Look, I'm going this Saturday night if y'all wanna meet me there," Yaya announces as she focuses on her picture reminding me that I need to head back to mine. "Let me know and I'll get us a table. Just everyone chip in since I'm using my card."

It seems like everyone plans to go. "I'm going too," I say not wanting to be left out.

"Oh I know you are," Yaya's brow raises. I turn my lip up playfully. Kellan would've been bored there anyway he doesn't have an artistic bone in his body. He's like my mom, not interested.

Cutting the engine on my mama's car, I exit the gps and call Yaya.

"Hey. Where you at, I ain't see your car?"

"I'm coming. I'm a few minutes away, wait for me."

"I see Sheena and Francis standing outside. I can claim our station, it's fine. Just meet me inside," I tell her and on entering the urban paint bar with Sheena and Francis directly behind me, the walls are dust free and eggshell white. The overhead fixtures bring white artificial light. The floors are a light sandy wood, finished for easy clean. It looks way better than the outside, bigger too.

Francis leads the way to the desk/register/information center and I grab a brochure advertising a gallery showing that's supposed to happen.

"Hey we have a reservation for five under Yaya. 8PM," he states and we're escorted to a warm white brick space with finished wood floors easy for cleaning. Still there are plastic tarps. There are three other small groups with clustered easels signifying a division, each group with a corresponding table. Our table is table three and we order a bottle of red wine which comes around the same time as April and Yaya. We're all here and ready.

April and Francis take control since they've been to COLORS. They secure our palletes, paints, and brushes.

"Let's make it a competition," April suggests.

"You're on," Yaya points. We're all in, prepping our canvases before the model arrives and when the door reopens we all look up. "IT'S HIM," Yaya gasps echoing my thoughts. He looks just as stoic and reserved as the first time we saw him. I wave catching his eye and jog toward him stopping with my hands on my hips.

"You gotta be an art student," I gape up at him realizing he's taller than I remember. "You everywhere we be!" His lips pout in the tiniest smirk and I wonder if he's still not talking. "My bad, yes or no questions only. Nod for yes.. Are you an art student?"

He shakes his head no.

"Wow wow wow, you in school?"

He nods.

"I really wanna ask you where I'm about to start guessing schools."

Raising a finger to say wait, he proceeds to lightly grab my upper arms and shift me from his path like I'm in the way. I'm offended!

He heads to the middle point of the room which houses a small platform with a few props.

"Ohh," I mouth watching him pull of his thin but loose long sleeved purple vneck. "Dayum!"

I head back to my easel and my group has the same expression. This man looks like a gym rat. I suspected as much but you really couldn't tell through the shirt and that seems to have been on purpose. He's not like me, I flex hard af when I know I look good.

"Professionalism," I remind my classmates. "Y'all seen a naked body before. We are artists, we do not ogle... We respect the human form."

I'm half joking because I know it's normal to have a reaction, but they take me seriously and go into mature mode. Then the man takes off his ripped skinny jeans revealing strong, long, lean calves and solid, defined thighs. He's standing in burgundy briefs that expose that he's working with a monster. Big boy status in those briefs.

It's not like I've never seen a penis, Kellan's is not small. It's not as girthy as this guy's.. but it's similar in length. I'm glad he's not hear to see me damn near simping over this model. That could've been extremely awkward.

I look at the other groups and they seem to be really mature about it. I watch their eyes to see if they're faking composure but quickly change my mind and mind my business. It's a good time to grow up myself.

Then the briefs come off. I keep my face neutral but I see from the corner of my vision that the big boy is hanging. It's been a whole strip tease, I'm almost nervous to look up because my poker face is too fragile. Instead, I start with his face and upper body and jump to his legs based on my view of him. His side is turned to me. I mix my colors for the tonal differences in his skin, accounting for shadows and highlights. I want this portrait to look as good, no.. BETTER than the one he did of me in the cafe. I also want to win this little painting competition. I work on getting the color placement blocked out and accurate and then I follow up with blending and details. His hair is one of my favorite things to paint and I'm confident no one's touching me on that.

He moves around every so often to give the ones who request it a closer look. I don't mind it because he's good at returning to his mark and exact position. Also the lighting doesn't change.

I get his whole body down nearly, left with the gap between his v-cut and his thighs. It's childish but instead of drawing his penis, I start painting in the props. I paint the blue vase and the small stand holding the half full water bottle he keeps taking little breaks to sip from.

"Anyone else hot," I whisper blousing my shirt to give myself air underneath. April takes it as a sign to walk around our easels to look at our canvases and we do the same with each other's. Instantly I realize my painting isn't as good as I thought it was and that I can do better.

"You missed a whole part," she comments inspecting my painting carefully. She's looking at the way I painted his locs. I definitely succeeded there. "You just not gonna give him a dick?"

"I'm not done, I couldn't really see it from this angle," I lie. "I'm just gonna paint a modesty leaf."

"That'll ruin your pretty picture, I've seen your leaves," Francis grimaces. "It's a small part, you can finish it we have time."

I wanna tell him it ain't that small. That thing is big. Instead I pick up the brush to deliberate.

"Hey, could you come just a little closer, please? She's trying to see from the side," April points to me and when he comes closer, I have no excuse.

"Helps to paint it if you look at it maybe every once in a while," he deadpans. I freeze momentarily to look him in the eye. He thinks he's clever.

"Oh you talk now," I smile sarcastically. His small answering smirk shows no malice, purely teasing.

"I like to let people talk who like to talk."

"Yeah aight." I have to look. I start filling in the missing part of his body and when I glance left, Yaya is smirking at me. It's subtle, but I know her and I ignore her.

Kellan wouldn't understand me standing up here sipping wine and drawing dicks with a naked man so close to me. I don't think I'll tell him. That's not something I care to explain and I don't have to, it's art not sexual. I make sure I copy the smooth transition from brown to pinkish-brown on the tip of the dick. I get the healthy shine and the light pull of the balls which are big. He's clean shaven or waxed, I don't know which. When I've got the gist of it he returns to his original position.

"What's your name anyway," I call out. I can't be the only one curious.

"What importance is a given name? The universe will mold us into what we're truly meant to be."

"Erik. His name is Erik," a girl from table four says with a humored sigh. "Ignore him, he's a troll."

"That's a label you've chosen for me. You're a white woman, you are not the universe. Only black women can attempt to perceive me."

"Shut.. up," she groans. It's hard to tell but I'm starting to see he likes mixing his genuine responses with satire. It's confusing. He could be a hotep or he could be fishing. But why would hotep be a nude model? Are there hotep nude models who hand out flowers and draw in cafes?

"Let's compare," Yaya announces and we all vote on the winner with feedback from the other groups who actually consist of nice people. Yaya wins, no surprise there. I'm still proud of my painting. It's my best so far. I wish I could show it to my mama and my man without them viewing it as something perverted.

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #colors

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bangchanswolfpelt · 3 years

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Since we both like analysing, I'm having an issue. Why is it that I'm finding it harder to write about my bias in a group than about other members?? Shouldn't it be the other way around? TXT being the most recent example, I've already written 2 things for Yeonjun, 1 for Beomgyu and 1 for Soobin (not yet posted). I really wanted to make something for my main boo Tae Tae but all i seem to be able to do is drool over aesthetic edits. It's not like I haven't got thoughts in my brain, they just don't want to to come out! What do you think?

yooooooo, my roommate and i have talked about this a little, actually!! we realized that when we watched reactors, they were more likely to be really vocal about their bias wreckers and it was really hard to tell who their actual bias was until they said it outright, and then we looked at our own conversations and like—you'd never be able to tell she was Hobi-biased with the way Joon makes her loudly and frequently wish for death. in the same vein, if you show me unfair selcas from my wreckers (lookin at YOU JK, Soobin, Changbin 😤), you'll get a good twenty-minute diatribe of anguish and fury, whereas if you show me how beefy Yoongi has gotten or Yeonjun being... Yeonjun, i'll just. sigh a sigh that comes from deep in my old, brittle bones and go lay face down in the dark for half an hour.

and that's just in terms of general fannish behavior, but i think it can definitely apply to writing, too—Soobin isn't actually my bias, but you'd NEVER be able to tell from skimming my blog, and as much as i love to yell about my inbox being full of Soobin-fuckers, i am definitely a part of the problem 😔😭😂

i feel like there's a lot of factors that go into it—for me personally, the stuff i want to write for biases tends to be more ambitious (please don't ask me about my multi-chapter genderfucky Yoonji epic, i'll cry if i think about it too hard 💀), and when you're writing about your bias you're also gonna hold yourself to a higher standard than usual, and that combo of big goals/perfectionism definitely makes ME a less productive writer.

i think it's also a lot easier to get caught up in little details when you're writing/thinking about your bias, just because those details are so enjoyable to linger on—watch me spending half an hour going through pretty pictures of Wonwoo because how am i gonna write my secret werewolf romance if i don't know the exact color and style of his hair???? 😭 or me watching the wolfgang stage five times in a row as """inspiration""" for my 80k werewolf Bang Chan epic and then being too horny and distracted to actually write the damn thing 💀

if you want like, actual writing advice, tho

i think this has been the single most helpful thing i've read, re: actually getting stuff written

stop giving a fuck about stuff like quality and coherency, and just worry about getting stuff down, on paper or on a screen. if you have a lot of ideas running through your head throughout the day, but they all seem to disappear when you actually sit down to write, then don't wait for that time to sit down to get them down. pop open the notes app on your phone or a lil notebook to keep on hand to jot them down as they come to you; i know other people use voice notes, and those people are braver than any fuckin marine. figure out what works for you, and don't be afraid to change things up and try new methods! i have folders upon folders in scrivener because i'm a slut for organization, but i'll also sometimes write in already-queued tumblr posts to put pressure on myself.

when i'm writing anything longer than a few paragraphs, the easiest way for me to make it happen is to outline it in bullet points, just the bare bones X happens, then Y happens, then Z happens. when i get to the parts where i'm more ~inspired~ it definitely turns into some real ass writing shoved into a bulleted list format, but there's also points where it's like "oh no fight gets real ugly and cutting, actual feelings getting hurt??? ;(" or "somehow they go from yelling on opposite sides of the room to uhhhhhhh fucking on the desk, idk we'll figure it out later." it's clunky and rough, but it's a skeleton that i can start to build off of, and fleshing out and dressing up a full page of mediocre outlining is a lot easier than just trying to shit out a full page of brilliance on your first try.

idk, a lot of the stuff that's made me a more productive writer is just making myself let go perfectionism and reminding myself that the point of writing (for me, at least) is for fun and for other people to read, and neither of those things happen when i spend days agonizing over two sentences. i think the real trick is figuring out what is keeping you from writing, and working from there to make writing an easier process for yourself.💕 i know you've got the words in you, boo, you just need to figure out how to get the faucet unstuck so they can flow.💕💕💕

#mail corner 📬#muse💞🐕💞

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