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. 

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
  • "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"

“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 #79832

Name: Lou
Age: 26
Country: France

Hello! My name is Lou and I live in the south of France. I am a soon-to-be student again, currently working at home and spending too much time in nature.

My interests include (but are not limited to): science (especially geology, astronomy and botany), archaeology, video games, travels, poetry, Star Trek, music, and a weird j-pop band called Kanjani8.

I am shy, awkward, but really friendly! I am also non-binary (they/them pronouns) and queer!

Preferences: I’d like to meet people from around my age (between 21 and 30) but if you think we can get along, I’m okay with anybody over 18!

I also like to write letters so I’m looking for someone who want to receive mails or letters!

ghostpepper-2  asked:

I know this is random but... there are 26 Metadoras right? Are the first letters of their name all of the 26 letters of alphabet with no repetition?

Lol yeah it was made on purpose.
I’m glad you have realized :p

ID #66715

Name: Hellga
Age: 26
Country: Russia

Hi! I’m looking for a pen pal from any country of the world. I’ve graduated from a law school but now I work as an English teacher and a freelancer. I live with my girlfriend so please bear in mind that I’m looking for an open-minded people who are okay with LGBTQ community. I’m a huge fan on Marvel movies, bjd dolls, Ruby Rose. In my free time I like to travel, read books, cross-stitch and many more. I’m also tacking photography classes and have a dream to become a makeup artist because I love to see happy and confident people with makeup on.
I’m also a newbie vegan so I’ll be very pleased to chat with anyone with the same interests.
I’d love to send a snail mail only

Preferences: Any age, any gender but please be 18+
Any country is fine - I’d love to have friends from around the world

Sharing my diary
a daunting idea
translating into
handing a compilation of my thoughts to another person
like a weapon in their hands, at my expense

to laugh at me,
criticize me or
exercise this freedom
to use my own words in a choke-hold
against me.

—  Afreen Razvi, Access Denied
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.


ID #53401

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+