So, Um, From Time To Time, I Just Suddenly Get Really Motivated To Create Something, A Flash Of Creativity,

in recent years, there's been a push in therapeutic circles to shift the language from "attention-seeking" to "connection-seeking" behavior.

i was an attention-seeker. i was the textbook example of an attention-seeker. i was a troublemaker. i would self-harm. i destroyed my own relationships. i was uncontrolled, dramatic, sensitive. i took everything personally. i had "nothing" to be depressed "about," but made a big show of how sad i was nonetheless. i was really unsafe about myself in a lot of ways.

the strange thing about that is: it meant others could ignore me. the prevailing wisdom behind knowing something is "attention seeking" is to say: well, since you want it that bad, you're not getting any. it meant i was lower-on-the-list of concern. it meant an eye-roll.

the belief was that: since i was obviously doing these things on purpose, it would be bad behavioral training if i was "rewarded" for it. it would "teach me" that i simply had to make enough fuss, and i'd finally get all that missing attention and love. no, it was better to ignore that stuff.

i was suffering. and it felt like - oh, it doesn't matter how loudly i am in pain, nobody gives a shit about if i'm living or dying.

awhile ago, i went through my journals from that time. a lot of them read the same thing. in them, i am convinced i am invisible. that nobody wants to hear me, to see me. that i could die or vanish and nobody would even notice. i didn't even want attention - not really - because it was always dismissive, mocking. nothing i ever did would be good enough to get someone to actually-worry about me.

that's a terrifying thing for me to read as an adult. that is a child who fully has no problem committing. that is a child who has no concept of feeling loved. the most basic human instinct is missing from her life.

i needed help. i didn't know how to ask for it. i was a kid. i was a kid in a bad home, and whenever i thought things couldn't get worse there - they almost always did.

and the ways i showed that - the ways i tried to deal with that - they made others dismiss me. i wasn't suffering prettily. after all, if i was really in trouble, why wouldn't i just march into the first counselor's office and ask someone to help me? i had the opportunities, right? what did i think would happen, exactly? that someone would finally stand up and do something? who even wants that kind of responsibility?

i heard connection-seeking for the first time about three months ago. my therapist mentioned it when we were talking about my history. it rang some kind of horrible bell, deep inside me. i don't know what she said in the rest of her sentence. i just started... crying.

"oh no", i said to her. "i think i just realized: i have no idea how to forgive them for minimizing the ways i was hurting."

how many other kids, though. how many other kids were out there drowning, snatching around for a lifevest, some kind of rope - how many were straight-up ignored.

how many of those kids aren't gonna get old.

There was an order that relationships were supposed to go in—a pacing—a calculated number of breaths before certain conversations could happen. Eddie knew this. But he also knew that he and Richie’s relationship didn’t fit the same mold, and so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when Richie brought up marriage. He shouldn’t have been, but he was.

“Yeah, Eddie. I want to marry you.” Richie leaned into Eddie’s space on the couch, nearly on top of him, and pushed his hair back with delicate fingers. “I want to spend an absurd amount of money on a ring you won’t even wear half the time because you’re worried about your blood circulation and I want to take you somewhere nostalgic and propose. I want to have a ceremony with suits and vows and cake and a ridiculous speech from Bill that’ll make us both cry.”

“Oh is that all?” Eddie laughed nervously, something pleasant and curious twisting in his gut. Richie shook his head.

“I want to buy a house with you. I want to get a bed that we spend the whole day fighting over trying to put together. I want to leave little... little sticky notes on our fridge reminding you of things I know you won’t forget anyway. I want to have kids with you—“

“Kids?!” Eddie squeaked, pulling back from Richie’s gentle touches. “You want kids?”

Richie frowned at that, and there was a hint of alarm on his face, though Eddie wasn’t sure if it was at his own words or Eddie’s reaction to them. He sat up a bit on the couch, thoughtful.

“I mean,” he started, unsure. “I don’t know, I never really got to think about it before. But I think maybe, I might.” He looked up at Eddie questioningly. “Would—I mean. Do you want kids?”

“I...” Eddie trailed off, his answer a wordless half-thought. He tried to picture it, but then not too hard.

Because the truth was that Richie Tozier made Eddie feel like he could do things that, in any other place, he wouldn’t dream of doing. And the idea of raising kids with someone who made him feel like that sounded pretty fucking decent.

“Yeah,” he said finally on an exhale. “Yeah, I want that. With you.”

There was a breath—just one—and then Richie was leaning into him again, cupping the back of his neck and kissing him. Eddie re-situated himself on the couch, laying back against the arm rest to accommodate Richie’s weight over him, and kissed him back.

“I love you,” he murmured against his lips between kisses. He wondered absently if he’d ever actually said that to Richie before. But then he figured it didn’t really matter.

a summer day

Richie’s eyes settled on Stan, soft curls, pale features, and the loveliest pink in his cheeks. He was soft-spoken and wise and Richie adored him. Boys weren’t supposed to be pretty but Stanley just was. He was so pretty and so unaware of it, from the tips of his neatly trimmed nails to the top of his mess of sandy-blonde curls. His words were often joking but always had a hint of affection in them. Stanley was rain in june, a bird’s song, the stillness of the ocean early in the morning.

He dragged his eyes over to Beverly, the prettiest girl in the world in his four eyes . She was much more than just a pretty girl though, she was fearless, caring, and so kind it made Richie’s chest ache. Her beauty was not only skin deep, but far deeper. Her firey red hair matched her soul, and the freckles that dotted her face reminded him of the constellations they saw when they star gazed in the fall, her eyes were like diamonds and Richie prayed he’never forget them. Beverly was the warmth of fire, the feeling of the first day of summer, a butterfly in may.

Bill, their fearless leader, the boy that Richie pins as his first love. Auburn hair and scrapped knees, sticking up for his best friends to boys much older and far bigger than he. Bill was an enigma to Richie, a beautiful mix of heroic and humble. He was almost as tall as Richie now and filling out with muscle and richie could hardly breathe anymore. He played baseball so effortlessly and was the best brother to Georgie. Bill was the feeling of snow on christmas morning, the smell of freshly cut grass, the laughter between best friends.

His attention drifted to Mike, god how he loved Mikey. The boy who was once unsure of himself and how he fit into their misfit family now smiled the prettiest smiles and laughed the brightest laughter. His skin shone in the summer sun like nothing else, and his eyes were the loveliest shade of honey. His kind soul and tender touch felt like a taste of heaven on earth. Richie was positive if he’d ever met an angel it was in the form of Mike. Mike was the comfort of a hug, the taste of fresh lemonade, the feeling of tenderness.

Then came Ben, or Ben Handsome as he was so affectionately called. Though he wasn’t the pudgy kid he was a few summers ago, his heart was still as full of the same love and loyalty now. Ben had a way with words like no other, the first to help and the last to go home. Richie admired his beautiful feautures, his newly acquired height, toned muscle, and the mess of soft, dark blonde locks that fell in his eyes every once in a while. Ben was the feeling of a first kiss, a bouquet of roses, the calmness of night.

Eddie, the boy richie teased until he cried from the day they met, a mix of tender affection and the short tempered-ness much like that of a child. His long eyelashes cast shadows in the late afternoon sun, and caught rain in the spring. Eddie, though hot headed, was a sweet boy who’d give the world to make any of his friends smile. His delicate feautures, covered in freckles from the years in the sun, reminded him of home. Eddie was the sunshine after a storm, the sparklers on the fourth of july, the sweetest smile.

Richie was in love, so far gone for the six most important people in his life that it was laughable. A puppet to his emotions, Richie hoped that one day he’d finally be able to tell the deepest and darkest secret to them without them running for the hills. But today, he lays back against the grass and dozes off with Stan’s hand resting idly in his hair and Bev’s legs crossed over his.

Writing advice from my uni teachers:

If your dialog feels flat, rewrite the scene pretending the characters cannot at any cost say exactly what they mean. No one says “I’m mad” but they can say it in 100 other ways.

Wrote a chapter but you dislike it? Rewrite it again from memory. That way you’re only remembering the main parts and can fill in extra details. My teacher who was a playwright literally writes every single script twice because of this.

Don’t overuse metaphors, or they lose their potency. Limit yourself.

Before you write your novel, write a page of anything from your characters POV so you can get their voice right. Do this for every main character introduced.

mike wheeler:

me:

I love how the Hargreeves don't give a sh*t for who their siblings love, like, "Vanya is in love with a farm woman with a husband and a son? Well good for her, hope she is happy. Klaus loves a soldier he met in Vietnam that doesn't even no him yet? Kinda sad but adorable bro. Diego is in love with the girl who just tried to kill their entire family? Whatever, hope it works out. Luther is in love with his sister? Well jokes will be made, but you do you man. Five is f*cking a mannequin? Literally the healthiest relationship, call us for the wedding."

Literally the only relationship anyone ever judged was Vanya and Leonard, and they were right.

i’m gonna say it.

there is nothing wrong with you for liking cartoons, comic books, cosplays, dolls, nickelodeon, cartoon network, superheros, disney, fanfiction, video games, drawing, basically anything that is label to be “kids stuff.”  life is too damn short to be boring; who the hell wants to just be into things are acceptable by adult standards. 

enjoy the things that make you happy, and if it’s something that people view as immature and childish you should not be ashamed. you are fine the way you are.

W o aH

Writing Websites

1. a website with a list of superpowers and what they are

2. a website that generates random au ideas

3. a website that generates names, basic info and futures in a bunch of languages

4. a website that checks your grammar

5. website that lists types of execution in the states

6. a website with info on death certificates

7. a website with info on the four manners of death

8. a website with info on the black plague

9. website with information on depression

10. a website with info on the four types of suicide

11. website that lists famous quotes

12. website with different kinds of quotes

13. a website with info on food in every country

14. a website with a list of different colors

15. website with a list of medieval jobs

16. website with a list of fabrics

17. website with a list of flowers and pictures

18. website with a list of flowers and no pictures

19. website with a list of poisonous plants

20. website with a list of poisonous and non-poisonous plants

21. website with a list of things not to feed your animals

22. website with a list of poisons that can be used to kill people

23. website with info on the international date line

24. website with a list of food allergies

25. website with a list of climates

26. website with info on allergic reactions

27. website with info on fahrenheit and celsius 

28. website with info on color blindness

29. website with a list of medical equipment

30. website with a list of bugs

31. website with an alphabetic list of bugs and their scientific name

32. website with a list of eye colors

33. website (wikipedia sorry) with list of drinks

34. website with a list of religions

35. website with a list of different types of doctors and what they do

36. website (wikipedia again sorry) with a list of hair colors

37. website that generates fantasy names

38. website with a list of body language

39. website with a list of disabilities

40. website with an alphabetic list of disabilities

Do you have any tips to stop cringing at/hating your own writing? Thanks!

yeah actually: write cringe shit on purpose

do you know what so fucking cringe? superheroes. most people irl associate them with five year old boys and gamer bros who like excluding people based on whether they know how many Robins there are. you MIGHT get lucky and have them associate you with shippers and fandom folks. when my brand new housemate said to me ‘oh so I hear you like superheroes?’ I felt my soul fucking evacuate my body.

anyway so I took my favourite cringe genre and made it more cringe. I stripped out most of the action and made it about melodrama. about romance. about three line prompts centred on feelings. and I filled a whole blog with it. thousands of prompts, tens of thousands of words of nothing but the most cringe-inducing, self-indulgent, emotional twaddle. I write it fast, on the fly--for most of this blog’s lifespan I was producing two prompts a day, and there was no time to edit out the yikes or the badly placed commas or the overwrought betrayal. I’ve written cancel-worthy smut prompts and twee little tooth-aching cuteness. I’ve written so much junk that no one in their right mind would show another living soul, and published it in front of more than EIGHT THOUSAND PEOPLE. 

it’s an inoculation process (get your flu shot, kids). if you write cringe shit on purpose, you mind a lot less when you write cringe shit by accident. in fact, sometimes you start to enjoy the cringe even in your serious work, because you start to recognise a fundamental truth: everything is cringe. purple prose is cringe. romances are cringe. redemption arcs are cringe. em dashes are cringe. superheroes are cringe. 

you will always be writing something cringe. always. even when you’re a bestselling author, you’ll write something and think ‘oh god that’s so fucking cringe’. the difference between you now and you in that future is that you in the future has written so much more cringe shit. you will be (semi) cringe immune. you have survived the cringe before and you will survive the cringe again. 

so keep writing. keep cringing too, but most importantly: just keep writing. it’s the only surefire cure. 

hope this helps!

After three (3) years since the release of Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) dir. Anthony and Joe Russo, I still don’t understand why the Captain America exhibit was held in the Air and Space Museum. Steve Rogers is not even a pilot. The only time he ever manned a plane, and he nosedived it straight into the Arctic.