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Happy Sunday! Fanfic question time again! This is more general but curious if you're a plotter or a seat of the pants (or some combo) kind of writer? If you do plot, do you wait until you have the beginning, middle and end mapped out or do you start before you know your end point and hope to find it along the way?
Also, do you listen to music while you write?
Hey, lovely, Happy Sunday to you too! 💕
Ooh I love these types questions, thank you!!
1. What kind of writer am I? ✍🏽
I like the terms "Plotter" vs. "Seat of the pants" kind of writer. In the past I've called them "Architects" vs. "Adventurers."
In most respects, I consider myself a Plotter/Architect. My brain craves structure to an almost ill degree when writing. 😂 The way I beat writer's block while working on a project is by having a roadmap of what's going to happen next, and that's thanks to my outline.
It'll include plot points, scene changes, and even dialogue and parts of scene that occur to me as I'm plotting. (I don't want to forget them!) This doesn't mean that plot points won't change, or get switched around, or get chucked entirely. But if I have the blueprints of the house, I can change a window here and there, so to speak.
So for longer stories like "Never Say Goodbye," "Smoke Eater," and "Break Me Down," I had a very extensive outline that I had to sketch out entirely before I started writing. I also have outlines for longer one-shots, especially ones with multiple parts, like in the Midnight Espresso-verse.
In fact, the only stories I freeform are the shorter requests/imagines that are sent in to me.
2. Do I listen to music when I'm writing? 🎵
Girl, HELL YES. 🎶 Music is a big part of my life in general, but I need to listen to music when I write. Depending on the story, character, setting, fandom, etc., I'll listen to different kinds of music to get into the vibe of that story.
On the story/chapter post, I often include what particular song inspired me because I felt the lyrics, genre, and/or vibe encapsulated the story I was trying to create. After all, most good songs are stories themselves.
For Break Me Down, for example, I think I've shared with you that I chose "All My Living Time" by Radio Company as the series song inspo. It influenced many of the story's chapter titles. But I also listened to "If I Didn't Care," and a lot of Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme, and others in that genre to get the vibe of Ben in my head.
As another example, when I write for Jason Teague or Sam Winchester, I listen to a lot of 90s - early 2000s alt rock and grunge — like Lifehouse, Matchbox 20, Pearl Jam, Five for Fighting, Smashing Pumpkins, Avril Lavigne, etc.
Whereas for Dean Winchester...
Of course it's a lot of classic rock: Journey, Led Zeppelin, Queensryche, Whitesnake, Foreigner, Styx, Fleetwood Mac, etc. But depending on the story, I'll listen to other stuff too. In fact, I often create specific playlists for different stories and series.
BTW: If you ever want a playlist for a story I've written, let me know! I think that would be a really fun project to put together.
Thank you so much for asking! And sorry, I got a bit long-winded again. 😅 Can I toss these questions back at you @luci-in-trenchcoats...
Are you a plotter/architect or an adventurer/freeformer? And if you listen to music when you write, what does that look like for you? I love hearing about other writers' processes. 💓💓
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Perditus grunted a little as he adjusted his leg while laying down against the rock. It was a pleasant day, all things considered: the sun was warm without being smoldering, the winds were strong but not as harsh as usual, and he had something to make the pain a little more bearable.
With his eyes shut he fished a flint lighter and a medicinal sghitt out of the pouch under his thigh armor.
He didn't bother looking as he heard footsteps approach quickly; medication stuck between his teeth, he clicked lazily until he caught the telltale crackle of papery tissue catching fire, took the longest, deepest inhale he could, soaking in the acrid taste and familiar burn in the back of his head, and let an enormous cloud of septic-smelling smoke blow out of his mouth with a growling sigh.
His fellow debtor sat beside him nervously, scanning the horizon.
"Any news?" he asked.
"I was going to ask you," the Glatorian replied.
"None, then."
"None."
Hard nails tapped far too quickly against the rock.
Perditus took another drag. The numbing effect was starting to take hold of his anguishing limb.
"Do you think it'll be soon?" Atakus asked.
The Tapyri exhaled: "Maybe."
"Yes or no?"
"Maybe, I said."
"Maybe means nothing," the other said, glaring at him with his typical nervous anger, the fact that the larger being still wasn't looking at him inconsequential: "Will it be soon, yes or no?"
A shrug: "Probably, yes."
"You think?"
"Unless he wants to observe these freaks of nature do their merry little dance in a new environment for a while. But I'll bet a guy like him has already watched them long enough to get bored by now."
Another pause.
The hard nails were now scratching at the stone.
Another long drag and a puff of smoke.
"Do you think he'll kill us before or after the plan's done?"
"Who knows," Perditus answered lazily. He reclined his head to better bask in the sun. "Before would be a little annoying. For us, of course, he wouldn't care if we never saw what all this thankless work has been for. But then again we're his cannon fodder - maybe he'll wait till he has no need even for that."
He played with his sghitt, turning it between his fingers.
The knowledge that his eventual instantaneous murder would be inevitable had slowly but surely numbed him to the very same fact across the span of the many, interminable centuries that had passed since the day he'd started wracking up this blasted debt, and his only request (which he knew would never be taken into consideration) was to be allowed to die slowly, painfully, so that he could at least feel the life leave his body properly; but Atakus had never managed to make peace with the horror of their shared fate, and now that the moment was drawing near he was every day a little closer to losing his mind completely to the horror of his situation.
Frankly he was surprised the Potori had lived this long, with as anxious a disposition as he had. He'd always imagined he'd get out of his shackles with a stroke.
And yet here they both were.
Awaiting the second coming of a cruel god.
And while entire species were about to be massacred into heaps of melting, wailing scraps any second or day or month now, they were sitting against a rock under a pleasantly warm sun bathing in its light.
He could hear the Agori's irregular breath become louder.
"How's your leg?" Atakus asked in a fruitless attempt at changing the course of his spiraling thoughts.
"Hurts as usual." Perditus replied. "How's your heart?"
"Beating too fast," the Potori answered, "As usual."
The Glatorian's hand leaned over to the smaller being, offering the sghitt between his index and middle: "Take as many as you need."
The medicine was taken from his fingers by significantly shakier ones. He listened to the air slither with a long hiss into Atakus's lungs for the first time; the second was a little longer, a little less frantic, followed by a loud sigh; the third time was slow and deliberate, finally a little more at ease.
He listened to the sound of Skrall armor scraping against stone as the Agori laid back against the warm rock with him. A smaller hand placed the medication back in his palm, and he hummed gratefully before taking another drag himself.
The wind picked up slightly and dragged the smoke away from them.
He opened his eyes blearily, squinting in the sun.
Such a nice day.
Something far, far away, up in the clear sky, exploded. He saw the burst, a blot of bright hot color tearing apart the stratosphere, and long lines of white and faint red as pieces of whatever that was tried to land on Spherus Magna; but the destroyed body was barely above the size of a dot from where he was, and its meteors shriveled up into dust before coming anywhere close to the highest point available for them to strike, and in the end nothing of whatever tragedy had just transpired mattered at all.
The Glatorian hummed.
"Did something happen?" Atakus asked, eyes closed.
"No," his companion reassured him. "Relax."
The Potori did not respond, and got a little more comfortable.
Perditus glanced at him.
Maybe it made sense - he mused for a second, a second only - for Velika, of all cruel, paradoxical beings, to one day have complete and total control over this cruel, paradoxical world.
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