because you think you're worthless when you know it's not true

4 Feelings You Will Most Certainly Feel When You're Having a Bad Writing Day

1) Immense Jealousy

As nasty and gross as this feeling is, and as much as you want to say you don’t feel it, you’re gonna feel it. Good news for someone else that might otherwise not bother you feels like someone shoving a sawed-off shotgun down your throat and pulling the trigger. Every good, proud moment you’ve had regarding your writing feels completely worthless. You are the worst writer in existence, and the person you’re jealous of is a shining example of a true miracle at work. They have no faults, they eventually don’t even seem like a person in your eyes. They are simply everything you’re not. Everything you can never be.

How to fix this: Remind yourself that this is a person you’re getting jealous of. Someone that sleeps and cries and shits and farts. They’re not some perfect epitome of writerly gifts. Often enough, they’re just someone that never stopped. So what do you do? Be jealous, but don’t let it grind you to a halt. Tell yourself ‘That’ll be me one day’ and keep writing what you’re writing.

Spoiler alert, though, you won’t be any happier once you reach their level. Self-confidence problems are eternal, fam! Work on that first, or you’ll never be proud of yourself.

2) Profound Sadness

Sentences are like arteries, words the blood that flows through them. Not being able to write is like bleeding out. It hurts and you’re cold and you can’t hold onto them and death of your work seems like heartbeat away.

(I like to think writing blocks are fatty buildups, something can only be fixed through surgery, healthy eating, or a shit-ton of writing exercises, but that’s not exactly what I’m going for at the moment, so let’s move on)

You feel like you’ve never written anything good, and you never will. Blues descend on you. Everything sucks huge hairy balls. You can’t even bring yourself to put these feelings into words. You just have to sit there as each heartbeat kills you a little faster.

How to fix this: Everyone has bad days. Everyone. That person you want to be? That person you think is perfect? They’ve felt like this. It’s the Writer Condition. It’s the Imposter Syndrome. It’s every reason they warn people not to be writers. Remind yourself that tomorrow will come, and it will be different, and cut yourself a little slack. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it wasn’t torn apart in a day, either. You don’t suck as bad as you think. Might as well just act happy, right?

3) Formidable Fury

You’re pissed. The words aren’t coming and oh! So-and-so makes it look *so* easy. Look how many words they wrote today. Look how everyone recs them. Look at how great their ideas are! What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be THAT? Stupid, useless, worthless, blah blah blah.

How to fix this: No two people are the same. You may not have the strengths of one person, but you have your own. Take some time to figure out what you’re good at. Don’t be like 'So-and-so is good at blank and I’m not’ No. Shut the fuck up with that bullshit. Say instead 'I’m very good at blank’. No need to include so-and-so. If you really need to, ask others what you’re good at. People love the chance to make others feel good, because it makes them feel good. It’s a wonderful, selfish circle we live in!

4) Nothing

There is no greater enemy to creativity than feeling nothing for what you once loved. You look at what you’re writing, and the spark is gone. You can’t remember why you started in the first place. What’s the point? You’re not the God Emperor of the Writing Universe yet. Someone said something nice to someone else but not to you. Nobody knows who you are in your community. You’re a nobody, you’re writing is nothing, so you should feel nothing for it. Nothing nothing nothing.

How to fix this: For the love of fuck, get over yourself. So you’re not a BNF. So none of the current BNFs notice you. So what? Take all the other fix-its I’ve included here and mash them into one answer, and that’s what should go here. You’re only a human, and you’re doing the best you can. What you make might not ever match up to your idol’s work, or that person you hate that writes damn good stuff, or that person that writes crap but people will endless amp up like they wrote a holy text, but it can match up to what *you* want.

It ain’t easy to stop comparing. Honestly, it’s impossible, but you can stop comparing in a negative way and use it as a way to improve.The farther along you get in your writing, the more you learn. The more you learn, the higher your expectations for your work. The higher your expectations, the harder you are on yourself. Be proud of the fact that your tastes are this good!

Now go back and read your thing. If that spark isn’t back, write something new. Just don’t stop because your brain is telling you you’re not good enough. Of all the stupid reasons, that’s the stupidest.

the signs as twenty one pilots lyrics
  • aries: "oh don't you test me, no/just because i play the piano/doesn't mean i, i'm not willing to take you down/i'm sorry/i, i'm out of my mind, oh/i'm not seeing things right, oh/ i waste all this time trying to run from you/but i, i'm out of my mind" - Not Today
  • taurus: "are you searching for purpose?/then write something, yeah it might be worthless/then paint something, and it might be wordless/pointless curses, nonsense verses/you'll see purpose start to surface/no one else is dealing with your demons, meaning/maybe defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning, friend" - Kitchen Sink
  • gemini: "i wish i had two faces to prove which theory worked/yelling on a street corner or cleverly masking your words/i take off my face at the door cause i don't know who they will take me for/i wonder if i tell 'em what i did last night/whether or not i got caught, they just might/wage war on you, therefore it's true/that i shot my general on my side of enemy lines" - Clear
  • cancer: "all we are is an isle of flightless birds/we find our worth in giving birth, and stuff/we're lining our homes against winding roads/and we think the going is tough/we pick songs to sing, remind us of things nobody cares about/and honestly, we're probably more suicidal than ever now" - Isle of Flightless Birds
  • leo: "who would you live and die for on that list?/but the problem is, there's another list that exists and no one really wants to think about this/forget sanity, forget salary, forget vanity, my morality/if you get in between someone i love and me/you're gonna feel the heat of my cavalry/all these songs i'm hearing are so heartless/don't trust a perfect person and don't trust a song that's flawless" - Lane Boy
  • virgo: "i ponder of something terrifying/cause this time there's no sound to hide behind/i find over the course of our human existence/one thing consists of consistence/and it's that we're all battling fear" - Car Radio
  • libra: "i wont fall in love with falling/ i will try to avoid those eyes/i think you would beat the moon in a pretty contest/and the moon just happened to be the very first thing i missed" - Air Catcher
  • scorpio: "the demon sat there waiting on her porch/it was a little dark so he held a makeshift torch/ and when my car was far out of sight/ he crept in her room and stayed there for the night" - A Car, A Torch, A Death
  • sagittarius: "let's say we up and left this town/and turned our future upside down/we'll make pretend that you and me/live ever after happily" - House of Gold
  • capricorn: "you don't know my brain/the way you know my name/you don't know my heart/the way you know my face/you don't know what i've done/i'm wanted and on the run/i'm wanted and on the run/so i'm taking this moment to live in the future" - Message Man
  • aquarius: "yo, this song will never be on the radio/even if my clique were to pick and the people were to vote/it's the few, the proud, and the emotional/yo, you, bulletproof in black like a funeral/the world around us is burning but we're so cold/it's the few, the proud, and the emotional" - Fairly Local
  • pisces: "i don't know why i feed on emotion/there's a stomach inside my brain/i don't wanna be heard, i wanna be listened to/does it bother anyone else that someone else has your name?/does it bother anyone else that someone else has your name, your name" - Forest

anonymous asked:

Prompt: "No, John. You don't love me. It's shock, of course. I never meant for you to see my scars or for Mycroft to give you the Serbia files, I should have been more careful. I knew you'd blame yourself for not having noticed, for not having asked - it's what you do. So this, this confession, let's just reset, okay? You don't love me, John. You just think you do because of whatever unnecessary guilt you're feeling right now." Sherlock walked back into his room and closed the door behind him.

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME, ANON?!

Absolutely not, this needs to be fixed.

John watched in horror as the door to Sherlock’s room all but slammed in his face. Though he was several meters away he could still feel the sting of the latch clicking into place like a cool slap across his cheek, the pain of rejection sizzling hot in his veins.

After all these years, all this time, all these bloody emotions and finally, John had confessed. It was the only word for it. He’d confessed his deepest, darkest, most terrifying secret he’d help in for so very long, only to find that Sherlock didn’t want to hear it. Sherlock didn’t want his feelings. Sherlock didn’t want him.

Were those three words ill-timed? 

Perhaps. 

Did that make them any less true?

Not even in the slightest.

But seeing… Christ, seeing those white rivulets of healed skin scattered across Sherlock’s back like a map of horrendous tortures he’d endured during the years he’d been ‘dead’, all in the name of keeping John safe… God, if it wasn’t sickening. If it wasn’t the worst sort of guilt John had ever felt in his life. It had been an accident, of course. Sherlock would never willingly let John see them. Just a single slip of that ridiculous silk blue robe and John had caught the whole story in the blink of an eye. The pain of it burned harshly in the back of John’s throat.

But it wasn’t just guilt. It was… it was completely and utterly gut-wrenching to know the things Sherlock had been through. For John. To know he’d gone through the worst of it, walked into Hell and come out alive, John wasn’t so sure he could handle that knowledge. Not when that knowledge also came with truths. Truths about what Sherlock had done. Truths about what had been done to Sherlock. Someone had laid their revolting, worthless hands upon that perfect, perfect body and now-

No.

No, this is absolutely not how this ends.

And before any final decisions had been made, John was storming toward the door at the end of that small hallway just after the kitchen inside 221B Baker Street, and tossed it open without so much as a knock.

Sherlock sat perched on the bed, head in his hands, the top of his dark curly head all John could see of his beautiful face.

“Go away,” Sherlock growled, not moving from his position.

“No,” John bit right back, his tone harsher than he’d expected it to be.

Which seemed to snap Sherlock out of his own irritation, head rising from where it lay in his palms, eyes wide with surprise. “John-” he attempted but that was as far as Captain Watson planned on allowing.

“No, you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes,” John barked out, Captain voice in full effect now. “You listen good and damn well, because I have something to say.”

Sherlock’s lips flapped momentarily before settling into a thin line, going white as he pressed them together and nodded once succinctly. 

John dipped his head in reply. “Good. Now, I want you to exit that little room in your Mind Palace marked I Can’t Possibly Believe John Loves Me right this minute. Are you doing it?”

The twitch of Sherlock’s lips made John’s shoulders relax minutely. “John, I don’t have-”

“Have you done it?”

“John-”

“Answer me, Sherlock.”

Eyes twinkling slightly, Sherlock acquiesced with a lift and fall of his shoulder. “I’ve done the equivalent of what you’ve asked,” he replied softly, a small shift of his gaze alerting John to the fact that he did now have his full, undivided attention.

“Good,” John glared. “Because this is important and I won’t have you hiding away inside your head for it. Are we clear?”

A small stutter of his breath was the only reply Sherlock gave.

John took it and ran with it. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” he said softly, voice losing all the hardness it had held previously, instead coming out tender and kind, full of the adoration and love he’d held so deeply for this man for so so long. “I have loved you every day for years before this moment, and I will go on loving you for far longer. And it’s not because you were hurt, and it’s not because you came back. It’s because I love you. I have no rhyme or reason for it, I have no grand explanation. It just is. I just am. And if that big brilliant brain of yours can’t fully understand that, then it’s absolutely not as bright as you make us all believe it is, because what I am telling you now is fact. How can one argue with fact?”

Those soft, pillowy lips parted in an almost comical expression of shock as John spoke, ever-changing eyes trained on John, emotions flitting across them in quick, sharp bursts; fondess, confusion, fear, pain, hope, want. There were too many to count, but it was the most John had ever seen within them and it drew him closer, his feet planting firmly between Sherlock’s, body settling itself between Sherlock’s thighs, hands coming up to lay against Sherlock’s cheeks.

“I love you,” John whispered again, letting his features show every emotion he was feeling as well, eyes focused on Sherlock’s with certainty. “I love you,” he said again, tilting Sherlock’s face in his hands. “I love you.” Sherlock went willingly, drawing his head back, offering himself to John in clear surrender, the final thing John had been waiting for - trust - flitting across his face with a single blink of his eyes. 

“John,” he whispered so brokenly John had no other choice but to close the distant, sweeping his lips delicately across Sherlock’s in the tenderest of kisses. Sherlock made a soft sound, face straining upward for more, chasing John’s lips again and they met once more, mouths pressing together again and again in chaste but heated touches, the promise of them holding fast within each caress.

“I love you,” John went to say again, though the words seemed to escape him, sticking in his throat as the phrase rolled off another’s tongue, Sherlock’s breath ghosting into his mouth with the words falling inside. “I love you,” Sherlock murmured again and John moaned quietly, reaching down for another kiss as Sherlock’s fingers closed around each of John’s forearms in an effort to keep him near. “I love you, John Watson.”

John smiled against his lips, feeling the tension within both their bodies ebbing away and tightening with something else entirely. Something passionate and deep. “And I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” John murmured, Sherlock’s grip tightening on his arms. “And I love you.”

  • Aries: Do not fear the unknown, which you cannot understand or assign qualities to. Fear known things that you know are bad, like brushfires, or eviction notices, or someone truly loving you, or flesh-eating bacteria. There's just so many things. Yikes.
  • Taurus: Consider starting a garden! Gardening can be an excellent way to relieve stress, and dispose of the bodies of those who were giving you that stress.
  • Gemini: Connect the dots between your freckles and small scars. Find their configurations on star maps, take your bearings from them. Plan a trip, pack a bag, keep going until you have a reason to stay.
  • Cancer: Today your lucky color is the delicate gray-blue-purple of wisteria coiled around the cold gray stones of a ruined Gothic cathedral shrouded in mist on a drizzly Tuesday in mid-March, 1896.
  • Leo: This week, all prime numbers are lucky, but multiples of primes are bad. Single digit numbers are safe, decimal amounts should be treated with caution, and fractions may be fatal. Avoid cookbooks and pie charts.
  • Virgo: Star light, star bright, star brighter, star blinding. No wishes today.
  • Libra: While Wanda wanders pandering to panhandling pandas, she's sure to ticket rickety picketers for kicking persnickety crickets, but during the working week she sells seashells by the sea shore. We should all aspire to be like Wanda.
  • Scorpio: A dark, transparent blue, punctuated by stars, gradually becoming brighter and more opaque, before dimming again. Repeat over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
  • Sagittarius: Got small change? Leave them under your pillow, and while you sleep the Coin Fairy will come and replace them with brand new baby teeth!
  • Capricorn: You may sometimes think you are worthless, but that is not actually something you get to decide. Worth is decided by what other people think of you, and here at the Night Vale Horology Society, we think you're worth a lot. We took you to an appraiser and he was very impressed! How would you feel about going on Antiques Roadshow with us?
  • Aquarius: Yellow roses, or maybe flaming suns, in a glass jar, or maybe a galaxy. Twenty percent off when you use our coupon code BURNINGBURNINGFOREVER on the checkout page of our website. Persephone's Shroud Flower Shop, flowers for all occasions, especially sad ones.
  • Pisces: Don't forget to do that thing, at the place, with the people, and the animals, and the industrial gearing, and the cinnamon sticks, and the huge planets, and the abstract concept of sadness because time is passing. It's probably very important.

anonymous asked:

Oh you're seething now? Why don't you drop the fangirling and the shippy fanfiction writer attitude and try and look at these characters from the point of view of someone who DOESN'T have massive hots for them and sees them as the dicks they are how about that?

Gosh, I usually just delete these. But this one touches on a whole lot of things that are worth talking about, and I’m bored, and other people I care about have been the target of anonymous hate lately, so…

‘fangirling’ is a shitty insult

How do you discredit a person’s opinions on the internet? They’re a girl! Get it? Even worse than that, they’re a fangirl, which has taken on a meaning quite different from ‘a girl who is a fan of something’. No, fangirl carries with it the connotations of rabid irrationality, of imperviousness to reason, of shallowness, of ditzy lightweight illegitimacy even within the community of fans

Or, as Urban Dictionary put it: 

fanboy - A passionate fan of various elements of geek culture (e.g. sci-fi, comics, Star Wars, video games, anime, hobbits, Magic: the Gathering, etc.), but who lets his passion override social graces

fangirl - A rabid breed of human female who is obsessed with either a fictional character or an actor.


Look at the differences in emphasis there. Isn’t that interesting?

'the shippy fanfiction writer attitude’

How do we distinguish between real analytical fans and worthlessly biased unworthy fans whose opinions shouldn’t count? Real fans don’t write fanfiction. Writing fanfiction makes you illegitimate. 

In my experience, writing fanfiction actually broadens your perspective on a world and its characters. It’s hard to hate people when you live inside their head. Fiction can sometimes give you room for nuance that doesn’t come across in meta.

But even if all that were false, people write fanfiction because they enjoy it and publish it because other people enjoy it and attacking them for that is pretty sad.

and try and look at these characters from the point of view of someone who DOESN’T have massive hots for them

The only influence on your attitude toward characters is whether you have the hots for them. If you do, your opinion is worthless; if you don’t, you’re capable of understanding them the way they really are. 

Weirdly, this one also gets applied almost exclusively to people who present female. 

But, you know, it’s true. When I sit down to write about Thorin and Thranduil, I mean to do some serious analysis. But then I see a gif set of Lee Pace and Richard Armitage and the hormones roar up and overrule my capacity for rational analysis and render it impossible for me to understand other perspectives. This debate over Thingol’s refugee policy would have gone better if I’d just stopped thinking about how attractive he is; obviously my attitudes about Numenorean politics are influenced chiefly by my ‘tingles for Sauron. 

And the Feanorians? Man, I don’t stand a chance. ‘Maitimo’ means ‘well-formed’ and so obviously I am attracted to him and so obviously that is the only influence on my evaluation of his character. 

and sees them as the dicks they are how about that?

I respect and admire a lot of people in this fandom who read the characters that way. If you wrote something up explaining how you feel, and why, maybe you’d be among them. 

Ironically, most of those people shared my anger over the ‘arguably a nice guy and the least insane’ characterization of Maglor. It’s not just the Feanorian stans - in fact, it’s not even primarily the Feanorian stans - who find that characterization objectionable.

My decision to respond to this post does not confer an obligation to respond to subsequent ones; I sort of doubt that it will be a good use of my time. 

Have a nice day.