26 letters

It's Just Fan Fic...

I got an email from a reader earlier.  The sender was a lovely young woman who had just re-read my first published fic and wanted to tell me how much she enjoyed it—how it made her feel, how it made her smile, how it made her cry, how it made her excited to get home each night and curl up in bed with it, how it helped ease the pain of a difficult patch in her life, and how much she misses it now that it’s over.  It was a beautiful letter, and my reaction to it must have been visible enough to make my saner half take notice from across the room.  He shot me a questioning look, and I turned the laptop around and gestured to the screen.

I followed his eyes as they scanned each line, saw his lips tip up in a smile that grew broader as he read, then braced myself for the good natured snark I’ve come to expect when my little literary hobby comes up in conversation.

“Wow.” He said. “That was kind of amazing.  How does it feel to be someone’s favorite author?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious,” he replied, gesturing to the screen.  "That’s what she said—right there: You’re my favorite author.”

“I think she means favorite fic author.  Not real author.”

“Is there a difference?” He asked.

Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes.  ”Of course there is.”


“Because, as someone in this room who isn’t ME is fond of pointing out, self published gay mystery romance novels aren’t exactly eligible for the pulitzer.” I said, turning the computer back around.

“So what?” he shrugged, “Something you wrote inspired a stranger to sit down write what it meant to them and send it to you.  A lot of total strangers, as a matter of fact.  You write, people read it and react.  That makes you an author.”

“Huh.” I said, very eloquently, then got up and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

Hours later, sitting down to reply to the letter in question I find myself writing this post instead.  Because here’s the thing: That wonderfully crazy man who lives in my house is right.  (But please don’t tell him I said that)

From the moment I realized that letters made up words and words made up sentences and sentences made up worlds that were mine to explore any time I wanted to I’ve been a reader.  I have fallen in love with perfect phrases and epic stories and countless characters pressed between the pages of the thousands of books I’ve read in my life so far—and sitting down to string together those same 26 letters into tens of thousands of words of stories I felt needed telling?  That makes me an author.

I have adored the work of countless authors in numerous genres, and the world of fan fic is no exception.  I have admired and cherished and savored the words of talented writers whose work is no less legitimate for the fact that their names include random keyboard characters and their words don’t live on bound paper on a shelf.  

It’s not JUST fan fic.  It’s literature.  It’s published.  It’s read.  It’s loved.

It matters.

Thanks to all of my favorite authors for every word on every page on every screen that I’ve ever loved. 

  • "The Alphabet has 26 letters, if we take out BTS how many letters are there left?"
  • "23 letters"
  • "Wrong, it's 19 letters."
  • "Why?"
  • "Because BTS will always take ARMY with them"
This song is for the moments, places, or persons that somehow turn your tongue to stone. Those times when words truly do not possess the power to adequately paint the subject. For me, this was written for an instance when the world was made clear to me for only an instant. When trouble faded into wonder, and I had absolutely no use for the 26 letters I know.
—  John O’Callaghan on Black Butterflies & Déjà Vu

“My life,” said Harry moving closer to Draco, “is just a 25 letter combination.”

“Potter, you do release that there are 26 letters in the alphabet.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair, taking another step forward, looking up at Draco.

“I know, but all that’s missing in my life is you.”


/noun/ the peace of being indoors during a thunderstorm

Summary: Bookstores have always lured you in with the promise of the quiet, the serene, and, most recently, him.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2,644
Author’s Note: This story was on one of my old Tumblr writing accounts that I just deleted, but it was one of my favorite stories and didn’t want it to collect dust in my drive.


You’ve always had an endless fascination with books and novels of various different shapes, sizes, and lengths. The way someone could paint an entirely different world with the mixture of just 26 letters, whisk the mind away from reality, stir emotions inside someone—emotions of laughter or sadness or one of complete contentment. The influence a simple novel could have on a person’s viewpoint has always fascinated you.

During your younger years, you would find yourself trekking to the nearest bookstore, if only to simply run your fingers along the spines of all the latest releases. You would open a random novel, just to skim the first sentence, allowing the words of a complete stranger to fill you with familiarity.

Not much has changed in the years following your childhood. Something about corner bookstores have always lured you with the promise of peace and quiet, an escape from the harsh reality you occupied yourself with. You constantly looked forward to the days you could run away and hide within the shelves of the shop, no matter rain or shine, sleet or snow, 30 pages of homework to get done during the night, you always made an effort to visit at least once or twice a week as soon as you entered college.

Today is no exception to the rule. With midterms rapidly approaching, you’re already drowning in papers, projects, and upcoming tests, the stress practically eating you alive. But still, instead of returning to your apartment, you find yourself turning down the familiar sidewalk in the opposite direction. The rain overhead is steadily pouring down today, serving as little warning bells that perhaps making the trip to the bookstore might not be the best option.

Judging from the gray clouds, it’s clear that the weather has other plans for the remainder of the day—the lightning that suddenly shoots across the sky is a clear indication of that—but you find yourself not minding much. The heels of your boots clash gently against the sidewalk, your hair curling slightly as the water comes in contact with it, but all those worries and annoyances dissipate off your skin like steam as the familiar shop comes into view. With the lights on inside, the place looks like a beacon of hope, allowing the smile to spread itself across your face as you quicken your pace to shoulder open the door.

The bell rings overhead as you gently shut the door close, running your hand through your hair quickly to rid some of the water trapped in your locks. After exchanging a smile with the familiar cashier at the counter, you make your way deeper in the store. Like usual, there isn’t anything in particular you’re seeking, but just being surrounded by text, aisles and aisles of hardcovers and paperbacks fills you with comfort.

You’re just starting the turn into contemporary novels, when one particular black, hardcover spine catches your attention, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening with recognition as you distinctly remember this particular novel being one of the very few you’ve wanted in your own personal collection of books: John Green’s Looking For Alaska.

Your lips curl up into a smile, momentarily unfazed by the fact that the book had been placed on the highest shelf, towering a few inches above you, even as you stand on your tippy toes, even as your fingers barely manage to graze the book you want. It takes five times before you plant both feet firmly back on the ground with a gentle huff, considering the next movement to grab the book.

You’re just about to consider getting a running start between the two shelves, before a slightly amused voice cuts in through your concentration: “Need some help?”

Keep reading

ID #53400

Name: Temple
Age: 26
Country: UK

At the risk of sounding maudlin, I guess I am searching for a cure to loneliness. I’ve never been a very outwardly social person, I struggle with people in day-to-day life - something I believe a lot of introverts can understand (all my friends are online, ha ha). The problem is, I do want to talk and know people; to communicate myself and be understood and then understand someone else in return. I had nurtured the idea of getting a penpal for a while but was always a little anxious over the idea - what if they didn’t like me, what if they thought me a fool? But given how my life has gone up until now I just thought one day ‘what the heck, just do it’. So here I am in all my awkward but optimistic glory, trusting in this leap of faith.

Age specifications: 20+

ID #81981

Name: Mackenzie
Age: 26
Country: United States

I am a high school English teacher at the moment, but hopefully will be moving to history next year. I am passionate about travel to the umpteenth degree - I take as many trips as I possibly can throughout the year. I love to read (hello, I’m an English teacher) and bake. Being from the south, home was always synonymous with the kitchen so I tend to embody that mentality in my own life.

Preferences: 25 - 30, emails or snail mail, must be LGBTQ+ accepting,

  • <p> <b>Me at 3a.m.:</b> Alec is six feet tall and Magnus is six feet and two inches tall.<p/><b>Me:</b> 6' and 6'2. 6 and 62. 6 plus 62 is 68.<p/><b>Me:</b> The 68th day of 2017 was March 9th, a Thursday.<p/><b>Me:</b> Thursday has two syllables. Malec has two syllables.<p/><b>Me:</b> But wait. There are 26 letters in the alphabet. 68 minus 26 is 42. 42 minus 26 is 16. The 16th letter of the alphabet is P.<p/><b>Me:</b> What words start with P? Party. Party has two syllables. Magnus and Alec met at a party in the books.<p/><b>Me:</b> The malec episode was Season 1, episode 12. The twelfth letter of the alphabet is L.<p/><b>Me:</b> The letter L is made of two lines. So is P. 2 plus 2 is 4. What letter has four lines? K.<p/><b>Me:</b> A word that starts with K? Killing. What do we kill? Produce. How do we cook the produce? Many ways. Well done. Over done. mEDIUM RARE.<p/><b>Me:</b> The first thing Alec heard Magnus say in the show was "Well done? More like medium rare."<p/><b>Me:</b> IT'S ALL RIGHT THERE!!!!¡¡¡¡ CAN'T YOU SEE??? IT'S ALL-<p/><b>Friend trying to sleep next to me:</b> Can I go to bed now?<p/></p>

anonymous asked:

yo so like.......how much do you love mitch marner?

okay, so the game is over and i’m on my laptop which means that i can give this the full attention it deserves.

how much do i love mitch marner? that’s a damn good question.

this boy grew up in toronto with dreams bigger than him. since he was a kid he wanted to play for the maple leafs. did anyone really think he could do this? no, not even he did. mitch thought his career was over before it had even begun. he went on a pointless streak during the first year of his draft eligibility and this kid thought that that was the end of it. he got so down on himself that his dad had to take him home for a bit.

did he give up here, though? well, obviously not. he worked his ass off and he got back to where he was, maybe even better than where he was. and then he went fourth overall to his hometown team. this kid, who went far lower in the ohl draft than he should have because of his size, got drafted by the toronto maple leafs, the team he’s loved since before he could tie his own skates. he then went on to dominate the ohl, winning numerous awards and the ever so coveted, memorial cup as co-captain of the knights.

and now? now he’s one of the most important players on the team. he puts in consistent work every single game - he even plays when he’s sick - and doesn’t give up or ever really get discouraged. he’s like this ray of sunshine for the leafs. also, he’s in the leafs record book now, during a rookie season no one thought he’d play. plus, he’s surround by other amazing rookies, yet he still manages to hold his own and prove his skill, night in, night out.

now, enough about his accomplishments, which even though they’re a huge part of why i love and admire him as much as i do, they are not the only reasons.

mitch marner can light up an entire fucking stadium when he smiles and damn, is it a contagious smile or what? everything he does it to make his parents proud and there’s no one who’s opinion matters more than his dads to him. after his family home caught on fire and they had no idea of the damage, his first question was about his pets and never about all of the important mementos from a childhood spent playing hockey. he used to wear number 93 because it was the year his brother was born, yet turned it down when his childhood idol, doug gilmour, offered it to him. he cuddles his teammates and loves them so much. he’s always praising them and is so proud of their success. he gets just as happy as a fan would, maybe even more, when he or anyone else on the leafs scores. he’s just got this complete and unadulterated joy when he plays and he doesn’t let anything ruin that.  he’s a hometown boy who got to go home and you can see in the way he plays how grateful he is for that.

all in all, mitch is sunshine on skates and i love him more than i could possibly put into words. he’s an amazing and accomplished guy with a massive heart and i would literally have to spend hours trying to string together the 26 letters of our alphabet to explain my love for him and it still wouldn’t be enough.

tldr; i love mitch marner more than i love anything else in the world and yes, yes, i would write an essay for him.

Happily Ever After

❤ Soulmate Drabble (3/13) ❤

Originally posted by hanwooz

Member: Vernon
Genre: Fluff (you guessed it)
Word count: 557

You stop aging at 18 until you meet your soulmate. 

He must had swallowed the sun because he still seemed even more luminescent than that awful orange shirt he was wearing, and God knows that thing was bright. With eyes like manuscript ink, the moment you saw him all you wanted was to read his story. Your mother told you eyes were the windows to the soul and within that moment all you wanted to do was to stare into them until you forgot your own name. All you wanted to do was to stare at them until the only thing you could remember was the enchanting feeling of watching light flicker off of them.

You had seen the world go to shit in your lifetime. You had watched people do unspeakable and treacherous things one another. You had witnessed suffering and destruction. But throughout that destruction, you had always witnessed hope. And when you met Vernon you began to understand why, throughout everything, people continued to hope.

When you were stuck at 18 you met him at an old train track where only bad memories had previously lain. You had felt your heart beat like it had never beat before and you felt something in your body shift into place. You had felt right for the first time in your life, like things were how they were supposed to be. Upon meeting you he stuttered so bad you thought he didn’t speak your language. The first words he spoke to you were, “I think you fixed something I didn’t know was broken.”

When you turned 19, an age long overdue, Vernon whispered you kind words that made your heart swell three sizes. You can no longer remember a single sentence because each day he only whispers a new one to you. Vernon had a heart that was too big, he was made for you and despite all previous doubts he truly was. Each day he strung together a new collection of 26 letters for you to hear. Perhaps the strangest part of it all, was that a boy with eyes like ink and a heart too big loved you back.

When you turned 41 the love had yet to die out. He had taken you on adventures making you correct yourself every time you thought you couldn’t love him anymore than you did. He loved you like the waves of the ocean loved the moon, he would gravitate towards you no matter if you were to catch him or if he were to only fall flat into the sand. But you had always been there for him, and he couldn’t believe it.

When you turned 87 the love grew to nurturing one another. He would tuck you into bed every night and read you stories when your eyes could no longer work as well as they once did. You would remind him to eat three meals every day, encouraging him by making his favorite dish together no matter how shaky his hands got. It didn’t matter that his hands shook so long as you could still hold them. It didn’t matter that you couldn’t gaze into his ink stained irises like you once did because his eyes were only windows, and you had read his soul. It didn’t matter how old either of you got because you truly and wholeheartedly were soulmates, and nothing was more true.


I am a writer
I am eloquent and articulate
There are words that could describe you
Phrases and analogies made just for you
But I cannot put you on paper
You are too wild to contain in a page
You’d break through anything as solid as a definition
You’re too complex to belong to just one language
Too fascinating to be something already known
With all that being said
Yes there are ways to describe you
But I won’t.
—  26 letters by c.r.
ID #77640

Name: Charlotte
Age: 26
Country: New Zealand

I’m so bad talking about stuff like this. But I guess people to talk to, maybe make friends. But maybe people to Roleplay with too? I’m open to games and OC’s. But I’m a pretty chill person who loves to talk about video games, draw and learn about different cultures.

Preferences: Nothing really, I’m that chill.

Dex drops his bag next to the green couch and shrugs off his coat, heading toward the soft yellow light spilling out of the kitchen. The Haus is quiet; it’s midterms week, and everyone is pulling their last marathon study sessions before the final round of tests ends tomorrow. Fortunately for Dex, his last exam was earlier this morning, but the others are still holed up in their usual study spaces. If he’s right, Ransom and Holster should be in the library, Chowder should be in Farmer’s dorm, Lardo should be pacing around her studio, and Bitty should be - well, in the kitchen, he guesses, considering the smell that’s wafting through the hallway. 

He guesses right. When he enters the kitchen, he finds Bitty rolling out sugar cookie dough and humming whatever’s playing in his earbuds. Dex taps the doorframe to let Bitty know he’s there, and then he notices that Bitty isn’t alone.

Nursey’s here, too, scribbling frantically on a yellow legal pad and buried under a mess of loose papers and highlighters. Bitty turns to give Dex his best warning stare and Dex makes a motion as if to zip his lips shut, perching up on the countertop and stealing a cookie from the tray that’s cooling next to him.

For a minute or two he watches Nursey continue to scribble like his life depends on it. He’s seen Nursey this stressed before, but only around exams. Nursey may try to maintain his chill, but Dex knows that his grades are one of the few things that can pull his d-man out of his shell instantly. He works hard, Dex thinks. Really hard. Sometimes, beyond the point when even Dex himself would call it quits and take a nap - and Dex doesn’t give anything up easily. Never has, never will. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Bitty pushing a mixing bowl into his arms and handing him a wooden spoon. While Bitty swaps trays in and out of the oven, Dex starts absentmindedly mixing, watching as Nursey shuffles some papers around and picks up a green highlighter. 

Nursey underlines a few phrases before tossing the highlighter back onto the table, heaving a heavy sigh, and shoving a hand through his hair. Dex gets an idea. It’s stupid and small, but it’s an idea. 

Keep reading

26 letters with poetic potential,
millions of ways to exploit them
bend them, twist them, neglect them
kick them to the floor
or take care to build them up
protect them.
watch your words
select each syllable with caution
hear your tone
tiptoe around your tongue.
speech is strength
with the power to build kingdoms
or to knock them down.
—  vocative vocabulary
  • Roadhog: Do you know what that does?
  • Junkrat: I was gonna do what I did highschool and wing it 95 percent of the way!
  • Roadhog: How'd that work out for you?
  • Junkrat: Fuckin roight that's for sure! Never got anythin' below an F!
  • Roadhog: That's the lowest grade there is.
  • Junkrat: Nah mate, 26 letters in the alphabet! There's like 20 letters after that! I was in the top seven!
  • Roadhog: ... Whatever you say, just don't point that thing towards me.