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#at least they didn’t go in for the epithets like ‘the blonde man’ ‘the demon’
fingertipsmp3 · 10 months
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Reading an actual published book that is really, confidently bad gives me more confidence in my writing than just about anything actually
#before you ask; no i will not be saying the title or the author’s name#because 1) i did get this book for free (stuff your kindle day back in june) and 2) as the past sentence would imply; it is an indie author#so i don’t want to put this person on blast#HOWEVER. it still doesn’t make sense to me that this book was so bad#like i know it didn’t go through as many rounds of edits as a traditionally published book would have; and i know this author probably#doesn’t have the resources to seek professional editing. but STILL. even if it’s just you and a screen…… you’re telling me you can’t edit#better than that?? you can’t WRITE better than that????? i don’t know what to say#it read like a bad first draft. it read like something i would write drunk or sleep deprived or ill or a combination of the three#and come back to a month later and question whether i’m actually literate#the thing that really stood out to me was the run on sentences. plus the misuse of punctuation#they were using full stops where a comma should be… there were insubordinate clauses that just got abandoned#but then the next line would be a massive run on sentence and i’d be like….. my friend; when am i supposed to breathe?#if you’re not sure if it flows; read it out loud. if you’re running out of breath or tripping over your words It Does Not Flow#it just felt very very stilted; the grammar was bad; it was confusing; i kept getting the characters mixed up because they were both male#and names weren’t used often enough so i was like ‘wait… which one is this again?’#at least they didn’t go in for the epithets like ‘the blonde man’ ‘the demon’#that being said……. i can’t picture either of these characters because there was no description. they full on had sex and i couldn’t tell you#why they were attracted to each other or anything. like. i have read some real trash romance in my time and i am not ashamed to admit it#but i have Never; not in well over a decade of reading smut; had to question why two people were attracted to each other#even if i don’t agree with the reasoning. even if the attraction isn’t exactly coming off the page. i have some details#other than ‘he’s beautiful’. but HOW is he beautiful???? you never EXPLAINED#it was also probably the least passionate sex scene i’ve ever read. and that is impressive#it did bolster my confidence in my own writing lol so i have to thank it for that#i hope this author buys a grammar book and keeps at it. they had good concepts.. the execution was just so bad#and a lot of it could’ve honestly been fixed by fixing the sentence structure & invoking the five senses to set a vibe#personal
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leupagus · 3 years
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aw, yay prompts! Star Wars/Rogue One - Luke/Bodhi and summer hook up AU or urban street magic AU. Or Jannah/Rose - Heist AU. Or Rivers of London - anything with Molly for that food truck AU. Definitely just pick and choose as interested, or I can send these as separate asks, lol
Star Wars - summer hookup & urban street magic AU
Bodhi ducked down another alleyway, pulled off his hoodie and tossed it in a convenient bin. Then he took a deep breath and turned around, hands in pockets, trying to look casual. It probably wouldn't work. yn had been trying to teach him about sneaking around — "it's called spycraft," she'd sigh at him — but Bodhi couldn't ever shake the feeling that he was always himself, no matter who he was pretending to be.
Sure enough, he turned right out of the alley and ran smack into the someone.
"You all right?" said the voice, concerned and warm and — familiar, but who the hells did he know in this godsforsaken city? Other than the Jedi, who hopefully was still back at the square with his thumb up his arse.
Bodhi looked up into the face of — "Luke," he said, his face going hot and gods, this is why he shouldn't be given any kind of responsibilities! He was good at Imbuing, not Wayfinding; although maybe this was an aspect of his abilities, that ensured he'd escape the Jedi but get caught by the one person he'd like to see even less.
Though that wasn't accurate, really, it was more that he didn't think Luke wanted to see him, after that night last summer and waking up the next morning to an empty bed and—
Bodhi was still mid-spiral when he caught sight of the rest of Luke's getup — a black cape and black suit underneath, one hand loosely cradling a saber.
Luke's eyes were wide and blue and still just as beautiful as Bodhi remembered. "Oh, shit," Luke said. "You're the Rogue?"
"You're the Jedi!" Bodhi protested, but even while his inner Jyn was screaming at him to run or kick Luke in the balls or pull that stupid cape over his head, he could feel himself starting to smile.
Because Luke was beaming at him, radiant as the sun. "Well," he said, tossing his straw-blonde hair out of his face, "I had to get your attention somehow."
Star Wars - Heist AU
"Please put your heads on your hand," said Rose, trying for "calm and authoritative." She might have even hit it.
The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. "You mean my hands on my head?" she offered, and demonstrated.
"Right, yeah, sorry. This is my first day," Rose said, which probably wasn't the right thing to tell a robber? But also she could hear Finn in her earpiece telling her that he was thirty seconds away and also that she was doing great, which was reassuring, even if the woman in front of her was still holding the...whatever she was holding. "Um, actually if you want to put the thingy down on the floor, that would probably be good," she added.
"Oh god," she thought she heard Finn mutter, as he put on an extra burst of speed.
"The thingy," said the woman, sounding a little offended. "Honestly, if you can't even—"
Just then another woman, white with her hair up in odd little pigtails, came careening into the room. "Let's go!" she yelled without slowing down.
"Catch," said the first woman, throwing the thingy at her.
It was gold and kind of heavy, and Rose dropped it immediately, but they were already gone. "Well, fudge."
Finn's footsteps echoed in the hallway and he burst into the room, holding a taser in one hand and a flashlight in the other. "You okay?" he asked, breathing hard.
"They got away," she said. "Um, I don't know if they were really trying to steal—"
Just then the police started turning up, and the fire department, and all in all it was almost an hour later when Rose was shown the thing that the woman threw at her, now safely ensconced in an evidence bag. "It's a — oh shit," she said.
The detective, some old guy with an accent that might have been Midwestern or might have been just lazy, gave her a slight smile. "Yeah, it's oh shit all right," he agreed. "And guess what else they left behind."
The next morning, Finn came in with an actual physical copy of the Boston Globe; there on the front page was the two of them and Director Organa at the impromptu press conference in front of the museum. Underneath the photo was an array of each returned art piece, or at least pictures of what they'd looked like before. Rose had seen some of the rolled-up paintings and knew it would be months, if not years, before any of them were ready to be displayed again.
"We look good, though," she said, and Finn handed her some copies of the paper so she could send them to her sister and parents.
The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Return Heist was the subject of months of news stories, three documentaries, and a Netflix miniseries, but it wasn't until almost five years later, when Rose matched with a beautiful woman who liked crossword puzzles and base jumping on Nerdster, that they had the first indication of who exactly had brought the artwork back.
Rivers of London - food truck AU
They always came at dusk, the two of them looking like something out of a supernatural anime about demonic domestic staff. They systematically worked their way through the entire menu, which took them about two weeks, and if the rumours were right, then they'd bugger off.
The food truck community, insofar as there is one in London, operates mostly through mutual follows on social media, uneasy alliances at the various festivals and fairs that require our services, and ruthless undercutting when it comes to the best spots in the City to ply our wares during the lunchtime rush. But word gets around about certain customers, and it went around like wildfire about these two. They always paid cash, tipped lavishly, and only the man ate, but the woman would sit or stand next to him with a notepad, scribbling furiously as he quietly talked to her — describing the food, maybe, or plotting world domination. It was generally understood that they were a pair of stone cold freaks who you prayed would just finish up their weird assessment of your food truck and leave.
Only, the day before they sampled the last item on the menu — one of our sides, a fried plantain that Bev swears could make the dead get up out of their graves with demands for seconds — I let them know that there'd be a special on offer tomorrow.
I could hear Abigail snickering behind me as the gentleman — with those suits and that cane, it was the best epithet I could come up with — lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed? And what will this special be?"
"Well, it's special, isn't it?" I said, laying on the Kentish Town charm with a grin and a shovel. "You'll have to come back and try it. Otherwise you won't have a complete understanding of the menu."
The woman nodded, solemn as ever, but the gentleman looked suspicious. "Until tomorrow, then," he said, with another squint at me.
Abigail joined me at the window to watch them go, arm-in-arm into the fog like something out of Casablanca. "So has anyone figured out what website they work for?" she asked.
"I don't think they do," I said, as the fog swallowed them up. "I think they're just weirdos."
"Weirdos you invited back for a special that you haven't even invented yet," said Abigail, with the kind of insight that makes her a great line cook and a really annoying cousin.
"Well, good-looking weirdos," I allowed.
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