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#anyways sorry for this sappy 4am rant
dallonm-archive · 3 years
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[image description: a cropped image of a pink sky. on the right hand side is a bunch of darker pink clouds. Just left of the centre is a full moon. In the centre, in a white serif font reads "writing update" /end id]
july writing update
Hi friends! This writing update is me pretending I did Camp Nano and didn't kinda give up a week in! I had a proper goal and everything, but a lot of things got in the way that I'm not gonna talk about here because I already ranted about it in another update I'm drafting rn. Lets just say it's Disability Pride Month and being not neurotypical or able bodied in writing communities and their inherent focus on productivity is Hard.
But I did get some writing done and wanted to do a little Camp wrap up post regardless. And I'm doing it now because I'm cancelling the last week of July for some rest/self care and I do not want to think about writing for that time and if I write a tumblr post about July Nano being over my brain will think it's actually over <3 I will probably do updates like these for most months tho! Depends on how much I write lol! This one is not too long (by my standards) and has some Revelations, Revelations, Life Cycle of Massive Stars, Nocturne for the Holy and a new wip idea 👁️
excerpts under the cut!
general taglist ; ask to be + or - ; i only have one! ; @childhoodlovers @svpphicwrites @abiandwriting @kowlazovdi @avi-why @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @bijouxs @bookphobe @moonhungers @alicewestwater @bookpacking @shaelinwrites @onlyganymede @theelectricfactory @write-like-babs @oceancold @sidhewrites @wolf-oak @oasis-of-you @coffeeandcalligraphy @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @keira-is-writing @flip-phones @piyawrites @avakrahn @goose-books @finch-goes-write @ziyin @aphaimaniis @isherwoodj @laughtracksonata
I'm also editing this in to say I only just realised that July is my writeblr birthday month and that is very weird to me! A year and a couple days ago I impulsively turned an old blog into a place to document writing for me and ended up meeting people who now mean the world to me and my writing blossoming in a way I never thought it would. And the funny part is it doesn't feel like it's been a year, ever since I joined it's just felt like life has Always been this way and I cannot fathom that it hasn't. I'm sappy bc it's 4am lol but ultimately the friends I made (you know who you are) and the community I found is what retaught me the value of writing and helped me unlearn toxic ideas and whilst the last year was tough I wish I could tell July 2020 Dallon (who did not realise he was Dallon yet </3) what July 2021 would look like.
revelations, revelations ;
Oh the absolute state of affairs with this book rn. Nothing bad but I don't know when I'm gonna update y'all because sometimes I do not know where to start when talking about this wip lol! Currently on a break with it (but also my thesis work is on late 20th century queer lit/history rn so am ever really free of RR? <3) but had a lot of fun with it at the end of June/start of July. Anyway here's Dorothy finally revealing more of herself to me after a year. Dorothy as a character is like, I truly believe she is capable of killing a man but the story she is in just does not allow that so I am trying to grow her unhinged side a little bit in other ways bc I know she has it in her but I also really cannot deal with the plot repercussions of her actually killing a man! I'm sorry Dotty but this'll have to do!
(cw for groping/a man being creepy as hell, death/funeral mention, drug mention, drowning imagery kinda)
There’s too much to tell Felix. That his sister lives on the fringe of Castro and has attended three funerals since September; that it’s January 11th and she’s already attended one this year. That his sister drives through sunsets and imagines parties: the amber dusk, warm mosaic tiles, platters of Greek salad skewers and shrimp tostadas, and sometimes Jolie joins her and they share a blunt on the hill. That his sister bought an aquamarine body-length dress for six bucks in a thrift store sale bin, so when her and Jolie broke up for the second time, she waltzed into a sunset party, locked arms with a CEO’s son and gave him a fake number and plucked strawberries out of champagne and blended so well nobody noticed when she left. That during the summer of ’83, his sister walked a neighbour’s Golden Retriever on Wednesdays, and on the sixth Wednesday he gave her a wad of tens with one hand and palmed the back of her neck with the other, so she walked his dog to the beach and stole another hundred from his wallet. That his sister bombed an interview for a Nursing school and didn’t get home until night and missed their monthly call, and Jolie heard the phone ring and didn’t take a message, so his sister snuck into the CEO’s son’s villa and floated in the centre of their heated pool like a cloud. A pause, a breath, an Opheliean threat.
life cycle of massive stars ;
Switched to LCOMS this month because I was burnt out with RR and it made such the difference! I really love working on two novels at once because it keeps me consistently creative but also both of these books are so different so its always refreshing to bounce back into one from another. I have a whole update in the drafts rn for this so keeping this part brief but still love this book, still the best thing that has ever happened to me, me and this book will have a glorious summer wedding etc etc. These excerpts are from chapters that summarise the first semester of each character's first year and have to say it. has been Very Fun to get into the mindset of Freshers Melodrama. Here's Junie having a crisis and an unhealthy relationship with her hetero flatmate :( (alcohol cw for both excerpts)
In October you are drinking double espresso and trying to breathe normally in lectures and you are trying to figure out your favourite colour because Fleur asked and you stumbled out an answer (Purple, I think. Violet? Lavender? Indigo?) and it didn’t match hers (I like yellow. I like sunlight). You buy mugs from IKEA to paint you paint cats and fireworks and constellations and moon phases and daisies. You try to scratch paint stains off your desk. You do laundry at 2am. In October you colour code your notes with pastel highlighters. You go to the library at 3am. You paint your nails sunlight and hate it. You finish an essay that’s due in December. You knock on Fleur’s door at 8am so she makes her 9am. You wear off the shoulder tops and you let a girl dab glitter on your collarbones and you are watching Fleur kiss a boy from the neighbouring hall. You bite your sunlight nails. You break the handle off your IKEA constellation mug. You leave your keys in a lecture hall and stand at the reception for forty minutes waiting for them to realise that the keys on the desk have the moon chain you mentioned - or, you are waiting to say it yourself. You are watching the rain trail down your window. In October you get a halo headband tangled in your hair you are sipping a vampire themed cocktail that tastes like acetone you rip your heels off and you go home early and do laundry at 2am and you are waiting for the courage to tell Fleur you don’t like clubbing - or, you are waiting for her to ask where you are. In October you are many things / a good student a dancer a painter an angel a big sister an alarm clock you are nocturnal and a lucid dreamer and confused about your sexuality / and it’s still October but it’s not because it’s November now and you are still Junie but not because you don’t know who Junie is. It’s November, it’s September October November December. It’s 2016 2017 2018 2019. You are fragments and you don’t know if you are a kaleidoscope or shattered glass.
And here's first year Tomas being like I Moved Countries For University And All I Got Was Homesickness And A Crush On My Flatmate And Resurging Autistic Symptoms And This Lousy T Shirt (cw: vomit mention, injection mention, parental death mention)
Kristen is seven months younger and five inches taller than you. He’s the last flatmate you met and the only one you talk to beyond kitchen greetings and passive aggressive texts about dirty dishes. He is too quiet and too loud and not the type of person you befriend. The first night, he lost Ring of Fire and downed the concoction of Echo Falls, Dark Fruits, Jack Daniels and coke, vodka and lemonade alongside a cigarette and said he’d let God figure out the rest. He held your hair back when you threw up amaretto and held onto your knee when you first self-injected testosterone. He taught you Yorkshire dialect and you pretended to understand the Yorkshire dialect. He told you he got diagnosed at four and you told him you didn’t get past the first assessment but sometimes you flick the bathroom light on and it’s fire: the orange on the orange towel is louder, the white on the white tiles are louder, the colours and light and sink and showerhead are prickly and all you can do is blink and breathe until it fizzles out. You reminded him to take his meds and asked if you were weak for wanting to drop out and hop on the first Eurostar to Rotterdam. He reminded you to take off your binder and asked if he was robotic for not grieving his mother. You spent inky nights on the kitchen floor, counting the dead flies in the lights and scooping crumbly coconut ice cream out of a maker you got for half price in TK Maxx. You spent dusk-dusted afternoons at the global street food markets, at the vegan markets. Spent student loans on raspberry lemonade in recycled cups, veggie burgers in beetroot buns, got him hooked on poffertjes and advocaat and could’ve cried when the vendor spoke to you in Dutch. Sometimes you didn’t buy anything. Just liked hovering at stalls ambered with fairy lights, writing down Etsy stores on your notes app; just liked Kristen’s impulse to trek forty minutes into the city for a market he didn’t know existed until five minutes before; just liked how he always invited only you, cancelling your other plans last minute, the feeling of being ambushed; just liked how he stopped to take photos of dogs and the sunset; just liked how he looked haloed under lampposts waiting for Ubers, golden on golden.
This is also nearing creative nonfiction because Sheffield truly is a haven for just. vegan markets and cafes lol! I experimented with veganism there and never struggled to find something and at this point I call myself a fake vegan because it's too easy to be vegan in Sheffield and too difficult to be vegan in my actual hometown. And the global street food markets!!! SO GOOD! I miss pre pandemic days
nocturne for the holy ;
Giving her a little shout out because she does exist actually! I've figured out a really good system for working on two novels at a time, so my plan is maybe to start properly on this after I finish either RR or LCOMS. Idk I got 3 novels to pick from haha oops! I did do some free drafting back in April though and found it recently and I Like It! And I edited it so it counts as Something I Did This Month :) Also have decided that I loathe this working title <3 Okay see you with an update for this novel in like a year, sorry for the absolute zero context for this excerpt hehe
The morning I was due back, I hadn’t yet decided that this would be my last visit. I wandered between rooms like an overstayed guest, like I didn’t know which crockery lived in which cabinet and which bedroom had the best view of the overlapped hills. Dad would wake for his run in an hour, plastered to his twenty-year-old routine. Mum would pretend to be asleep until breakfast. Until then, it was myself and the house, hazed by sleepy sunrise. Downstairs. The peeling paisley wallpaper in the lounge, the lilies in the middle of the kitchen table, the vases of candy floss pink peonies wilting on every windowsill, the desolate double swing-set in the garden. The mist-clogged mornings. I stood outside in my dressing-gown until my fingertips felt numb. Upstairs. The sage coloured bathroom. The bathtub I’d laze in with my clothes on and no water because it was the quietest room in the house. The dusty dance trophies on the top of my wardrobe. Wine-flushed Jeanette in my teenage bedroom. The stale grey mum painted my teenage bedroom after I moved out. Minus their room, I stalked the layout of the house three times before settling back into bed - teenage Nora’s bed. Nora who cared for peonies and pushed her brother on the swing set and flung her ceramic ballerina at the wall and jogged with her father and collected wine bottles and acorns and kisses from girls who were supposed to visit for dance practice. Before I left, I’d have cycled each room another three times. And in every room he was there, hovered in the corner like black mould.
love this update bc it's like i've got my third person, my second person, my first person! collecting all the POVs like chaos emeralds :)
eulogy for our burnings ;
-looks away-
girl help I did it AGAIN!!!! Apparently Camp Nano is just the perfect time for me to get novel ideas. I made this post specifically to talk a bit about this because I have no idea when I'll draft it but it's certainly not soon. This is not me trying to doubt my own skill but I feel like I am not in the place I'd like to be as a writer to tackle this project with the zest it needs, however I am v excited by the prospect of it! Don't know how I feel about the working title bc I'm like "that doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about this wip to dispute it" but the only purpose my working titles serve is to sound pretty lol! But here's the tea:
1991, UK.
2nd person present + past. Very flexible form. I can't decipher how yet but I'm feeling interviews, newspaper articles, receipts, grocery store lists weaved with actual narrative, that kinda vibe.
Best summary is we follow our nameless narrator, a stealth trans man, as he becomes unhealthily obsessed with a man who "hires" him to photograph the buildings he burns
Very,,, isolated? Minimal settings, minimal characters, minimal prose etc. Almost claustrophobic
There's basically only two characters and they are probably the most morally deplorable, indefensible characters I've created which just means most of you are gonna LOVE this /lh I do too I do too
Only comp title I can give is it has the vibes/tone of Boy Parts by Eliza Clark (just with none of the nsfw content lol if you've read the book you know what I'm talking about) (also that book is great for morally deplorable women protagonists but omg look up the content warnings because it caught me off guard! enjoyed it tho gave it 4 stars)
The pinterest board is the best visualisation of the Vibes also follow me on pinterest lol
And that's all I've got today! A bigger Life Cycle of Massive Stars update coming in the next few weeks. Might do a proper intro post for Eulogy For Our Burnings but idk!!! It's a surprise :) Thank you for reading this far!
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loveofshows · 6 years
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So, this is the result of waking up at 4am and thinking about Sherlolly. I'm not sorry I woke this but I am sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes. With that in mind I hope you'll enjoy this. Happy reading!
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Charlotte walked into 221 Baker Street when she heard it. She looked up and shook her head as she made her way to Mrs Hudson's. They had been fighting whenever she wasn't around and quickly stopped when she entered. It was getting tired some.
Mrs Hudson opened the door after she knocked, looking just as tired at Charlotte felt. "Still fighting I take it?" Charlotte nodded and she was ushered in.
"Thanks Mrs Hudson. If you don't mind, I'd brought headphones this time. So I'll just put those on and do my homework."
"Of course not. I'll be taking an afternoon nap anyways. If you need anything don't be afraid to wake me up." She pour herself a cup, patted Charlotte's curly hair and left for her room.
Charlotte set her book bag down, set the table full of books and papers, made herself a cup as well. When she was ready, she sat down put her headphones in and turned on the music, drowning out everything.
She could always rely on Mrs Hudson. Now if only her parents who kiss and make up, she'll feel better.
Up in 221b is a different story though. Sherlock and Molly were standing in the living room having what seems to be a shouting match.
"Sherlock this is ridiculous!" Molly shouted, "you can't go running off in the middle of the night! Whether it's case related or not!"
"It usually is Molly. There's nothing you need to worry about! And I can do as I please."
"'Nothing to worry about?'" Molly spluttered, "you have a daughter that looks up to you. A wife that gets worried sick that you won't come back."
"But I always come back Molly, why can't you get that through your thick head."
Molly glared as she tried to keep her tears at bay. "There were times that you didn't Sherlock. I know it's your job, I can take you leaving for a few days without contact. But when you leave without saying anything it seems you have something to hide." Sometime in her had dawned. "Are you back on drugs again?"
She couldn't have been more right yet so wrong. "Cuz I swear Sherlock if you are..." she couldn't finish her sentence. The look Sherlock gave her broken her heart.
"I'll be at Johns." Was all Sherlock said before grabbing his coat and scarf as he left.
When Molly heard the doors slam shut, she collapsed to the floor and began crying.
After what felt like hours, Molly dried her eyes and looked at the clock. Charlotte should be up any minute now, and not wanting to worry her daughter, began to clean up.
She cleaned her face and began packing a few things of there's and finished just as Charlotte walked in.
"Going somewhere Mum?" Charlotte asked as she saw the suitcases.
"We're taking a bit of a holiday. So go and grab a few things from your room and we'll get going."
Charlotte was about ask if Sherlock was coming with but stopped when she saw Molly's face. All Charlotte could do was nod and did what she was told. This one must have been different then the others, Charlotte thought.
When they were ready they left 221 and both wondered if they would ever see it again.
It had been a week since the two left and Charlotte was tired of seeing her mum miserable. So that day after school, Charlotte went home instead of John's. She was going to fix this, one way or another.
When she entered her home, something felt off. It didn't feel warm or loving. It didn't feel like it usually does when Molly was still at work and she would come home to find Sherlock playing or pacing. Or even ranting at Uncle John when he wasn't there. Even when Sherlock was off on a case, it still felt like home.
No, this was the opposite of home. This felt dead and cold and uninviting. Sending shivers down her spine. "Dad?" Charlotte called out but there was no reply. She peered through the kitchen and found nothing. Looked in the bathroom and found it unused.
When she got to her parents room, she felt goose bumps rising. Afraid what she might find, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Dad?!" Charlotte cried. Dropping her backpack, she ran over and checked his pulse. It was faint but still there. She took out her phone and called for help.
When the ambulance had arrived and took Sherlock, Charlotte was insistent on coming with them to the hospital. She was stubborn when the doctors told her to call her mom and inform her, but she refused. She wouldn't call her, no not yet.
She had a bone to pick with her dad and she didn't want her mom there just yet. What she didn't account for was John telling Molly.
Molly was in her office doing paperwork when John called. John informed her about Sherlock and Charlotte. She thanked him and hung up.
Molly left her office and went upstairs. Going to the nurses station, she asked where Sherlock's room was. Getting the answer, Molly mentally prepared herself for seeing the love of his life. What she didn't prepare for was her broken daughter.
She was about to knock when she heard it. The sound of a 14 year old girls cry. Opening the door a little, Molly found Charlotte curled up beside a sleeping Sherlock.
"Know you," Charlotte started once she was calmed down enough to talk, "for the two most genius people in London, you and Mum are the most dense." Molly couldn't help but smile. Of course the first thing Charlotte would do is insult the both of them.
"If you would have told mom you were planning a getaway for your anniversary then you wouldn't have been fighting for weeks. But you didn't want Mum to know that either. Because your Sherlock Holmes and even planning something has to be a secret."
Molly wondered if her daughters was mocking Sherlock and stifled a laugh.
"But you only did it because Mum was hiding something too." That caught Molly's attention. "She wasn't cheating of course cuz the way she looks at you anyone could tell she would never. Even Anderson." At that Molly couldn't help but let a little giggle escape. Charlotte didn't hear, she was too busy talking. "Nor you being back on drugs cuz you know how much that would have hurt Mum.
"Some of my friends think that either of you should have gotten married. But I think they're wrong. You're the best for each other and the best parents I could ask for." Charlotte yawned and snuggled closer. "And I'm sure my brother or sister would agree to that too. I hope you guys are done with having kids. Cuz you two are old."
Molly looked at her daughter in surprise. She was sure she hid it well. Leave it up to Sherlock's daughter to deduce something Sherlock couldn't.
She watched as Charlotte closed her eyes and began snoring lightly. Smiling, Molly opened to door and walked in..
"She's really something isn't she?" Sherlock asked, staring at Charlotte with love and adoration.
"Too smart for her own good too," Molly added. She took a seat on the chair beside the bed, and tucked Charlottes hair behind her ear. "Should have known she knew about the fighting."
Sherlock snorted. "She knew about everything. Though I'm a bit jealous she deduced you're pregnant before I did."
"I was going to tell you," Molly said, "I just wasn't ready to. And how come you didn't want to tell me you were planning a surprise for this weekend?"
"Because if I did, I'd get excited and tell you everything."
"Must have been one hell of a trip if you're excited for it."
Sherlock smiled sheepishly. "It would have been great. I was going to take the two of you to Hawaii, send Charlotte off to the beach and have a nice day together. But I didn't account you being pregnant, now I'm not sure it's a good idea."
"It would have been lovely." Molly smiled and took his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's like I said, I wasn't ready to face the truth about having another child. And I wasn't sure how'd you would take it."
"Molly," Sherlock put in before Molly could ramble, "I'm over the moon about it. I've always wanted another, but it's like Charlotte said we are getting old.”
"You don't have to tell me twice." Molly laughed. "Forgive me?"
"Always. Forgive me?"
Molly leaned over their daughter and kissed him. "Of course."
Charlotte stirred and the two looked to see her smile and snuggled closer to Sherlock causing him to wince a little.
"So, are you going to tell me why you've been shot?"
Sherlock sighed and shrugged. "It seems I was to worried about you two that I forgot I was on a case. The culprit had gotten word that I was looking for him. I think he figured he'd get to me first. He would have shot you two if you were home. That is the only thing I'm great full for you leaving."
"Oh Sherlock." Shaming her head, she gave her husband another kiss and kiss her daughters forehead.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"You guys are sappy and gross."
They looked at their daughter and laughed. "We love you too," they said together and bombarded her with kisses causing her to laugh.
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