floating merrily

Realities of writing

Assuming a typing speed of 100 words per minute, it takes 16.67 hours to write 100,000 words.

That’s without stopping to eat, sleep, use the facilities, flex fingers, or fidget in the writer’s hot seat.  It doesn’t include the time needed to come up with a character’s history, their personalities, or their quirks; the antagonist’s driving goal; the overachieving plot of a story; or, most importantly, to do the research that fills in the tiny gaps and makes the narrative more tangible and believable.

Let’s not forget the required rewriting, copy-editing, beta-reading, and polishing to whip a piece into shape.

A novel-length story written in 16.67 hours is most likely going to be a piece of absolute rubbish in the shape of a train-of-consciousness narrative, run-on and endless sentences, self-contradicting two-dimensional characters, unbelievable deus ex machina solutions, and, plot holes that a long-haul truck driver can drive a 24-wheeler through, with plenty of room for the oversize clearance load rumbling along behind them.

I know this because I have evidence in my file folders.  Let me tell you, the smell coming from those file folders is well past downwind sun-warmed rotting fruit and well into bloated-body decomposition while floating merrily along the river.  Nobody wants to read that shit.

Writing isn’t a race. It’s not a matter of how many words are written per minute, how many chapters are finished per day, how many books are completed per week.  It’s getting the story written, which is work, pure and simple.  Like any other job, for it to be done well, the writer has to put in the time.

And it takes time.  Time to come up with believable main characters, relatable evil protagonists, plots that appeal to the heart and outcomes that warm the soul.  Time to sit at a blank screen with a blinking cursor, in search of the battery charger when the laptop power dips below 10%, and to make the life-sustaining tea that’s going to go cold when a moment of inspiration hits.  Time to live life while thinking on how to finish a chapter, to overcome insecurities about a scene, and to find the confidence to release the story into the wild for others to capture and read.

It could take years before a story is finished and shared with others.  It could take a month.  It might never be completed, because the writer broke themselves trying to get to the end.

This is the reality of being a writer, whether it’s published fiction or fan fiction.  Yeah, someone could, in theory, write a whole book in less than 24 hours.  Does that mean it should be?  Is it a book that people would want to read?

(No.  Trust me.  Save yourselves.)

Support your favourite writer with encouragement and patience.  Pushing for more, faster, right away?  It only guarantees your favourite writer will burn out, and you’ll never find out how the story ends.

(I will be doing both because I am a weak man)

He settled on the end of the pier, whistling to himself as he watched the floater float merrily along. The cooler at his side was packed with delicious food for him and his boyfriend whenever the asshole showed up and some drinks for himself. The sun was setting on the abandoned dock and… where the fuck was Jack?

“Late again,” He sighed, kicking at the water, “Why do I date him again?”

The water in front of him suddenly part with a sharp fin, a very familiar fin that anyone that had seen any form of media would be able to tell what it was. He sort of frowned at it, giving it the stink eye as it lazily swam around the shallow water for a moment before coming at his legs with frightening speed. He just kept giving it the stink eye. Within a few feet of his legs, the fin dropped down and he could only roll his eyes.

When hands grabbed his feet, he only gave a half kick and frowned with a wet head breeched the water.

“Look out… it’s a great white,” He paused to smirk, “Boy.”

Jack frowned at him, showing off those great white shark teeth of his.

“Well hay to you too, babe,” Jack huffed.

“You’re late,” He said, bending down to kiss Jack’s frowning mouth. He tasted salty from the water and very distantly very coppery, probably from his last grisly meal. The frown melted against his mouth and he got a small smile from the shark merman when he pulled away.

“Sorry, you know that scrawny, squirrelly guy you’ve seen in the waters? Uh… Jamie I think his name is?”


“Tried to get me to get you to set him up with that big guy… uh the one in the medical mask?”

“Oh, Mako, nice guy.”

“Yeah, he is crushing hard,” Jack smirked with a heavy roll of his eyes.

“Man, I’ll have to tell Mako that,” He laughed as Jack ducked down to refresh himself before surfacing again.

“Bring me anything good?” Jack asked, wriggling his thick shark body barely hidden underneath the water’s surface.

“What would date night be without a nice dinner?” He scoffed, mock offended as he cracked open the cooler. He pulled out a piece of seasoned raw beef and lowered it down to Jack’s waiting mouth. He took it in one go and licked his fingers clean, smacking his lips as he reached for the next. He fed Jack several pieces before pulling out his own dinner and munching away in silence as Jack filled him in on what he had done since they had last seen each other.

“Found another downed ship, added a bunch of Spanish gold to the collection,” Jack told him, “I also found a bunch of cool antique pens that I think would go great with your collect, real edgy designs and everything.”

“You know me so well,” He snarked between bites, taking out another strip of beef for Jack to eat.

“I do, because I love you,” Jack smiled, pulling down his hand to nuzzle against his palm. He rubbed Jack’s smooth cheek back before encouraging him to lift himself out of the water enough to kiss him again.

“And what do you know, shark boy, I love you too,” He smiled against Jack’s mouth.


Clouds are huge
White, fluffy, marshmallow things that float merrily away
High in the sky
So strong.
So moody.
So magnificent.
There not meant to be touched
What are clouds used for?
Well they bring rain.
Rain that the earth needs
To be able to give it life.
They give us shade
When the sun gets too bright
Clouds are unique
They come in many shape
And in many sizes.
They also come in different colors.
Especially when its time for them to leave for the night
Clouds are like children
And the sun in there master.
But we will see them again
when they new day begins.

Joe Sugg imagine || Birthday. ||

Anonymous said:

I love your imagines! :) can you write one where y/n decorates the house and cooks Joe’s favorite food for his birthday and she has a bunch of presents for him, and he gets really happy and tells her how much she means to him, and it’s just cute and stuff? thank youuu 💕.

- - -

Looking at your watch, you grinned knowing Joe would be home from meetings all day any time now. You had the Jaspar flat to yourselves tonight, since Caspar was in LA and had been for almost two months.

You had taken most of the day decorating the place for Joe’s birthday. You didn’t go completely overboard…

At least you thought you didn’t. You had pinned up steamers along the place, gotten a few dozen Helium balloons and let a good dozen and a half go and float on the ceiling around the place making it colourful, you tied some to the backs of the chairs at the table and some on the railing of the steps.

You also taped a large: ‘Happy Birthday’ banner on the glass wall that job was guarding the stairs so no one fell to their doom from the upstairs and some regular balloons that just floated along the floor merrily.

You had left the house one time today and that was after Joe had left to go a couple streets over to a bakery where you got him a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting – which he’d taken a shine to recently, which also surprised you because normally he just bitched that red velvet was just a lie since it was chocolate cake dyed red.

Having cooked his favourite meal which was keeping warm in the oven. You walked over to the kitchen table and arranged a some presents you had wrapped for him.

Joe was oddly difficult to buy for, he never gave you a straight answer about what he wanted or said, he didn’t need anything. So you bought him a few things you knew he’d appreciate.

Setting your vlog camera up on the counter, you stood by it at you heard keys jingling outside the front door, you were nervous wondering if Joe was going to like your decorating abilities. Your fingers had laced together in your nervous habit.

The door opened slowly and you heard; “Wow.” from the other side of it, Joe walked slowly in, looking around at all your efforts displayed for him in celebration of his birthday. He looked to his left and seen you, his awed expression turned into a huge smile. “Babe!” He said, “this is amazing!” He pointed around the entire place.

“Happy Birthday!” You said with excitement as you bounced over to him all bubbly. “Thank you so much! (Y/N) – this is amazing.” He said looking from you to the balloons floating above the two of you,

his hands held your hips, still smiling he looked down at you, he lent in and kissed you quickly – which you returned, smiling just as big as he was. “You’re welcome.” You whispered, feeling his hands slide around your hips and wrapping around your lower back holding you close against him.  “You’re the best, you know that?” He asked, nuzzling his face against yours, 

“I try.” You admitted honestly.

Keeping you close, Joe started humming one of your favourite slower songs lowly and started dancing in small circles with you, before he took your hand, he spun you around carefully and you kept giggling as you danced with him across the hardwood floor, he pulled you back to him and held you so your back was against his front, he kissed your neck lightly. “Thank you.” He said again.

“My pleasure.” You said feeling like you were floating amongst the Helium balloons.

“Oh, hey guys.” Joe laughed, noticing the vlog camera on the counter finally, he waved at it. “I forgot I was recording.” You admitted after a minute. “I’m glad we’ll have this memory forever.” He had let you go slowly.

You two had supper together, cake and he opened his presents.

Having got him another 84 Gig memory card because he was always loosing his, a new leather journal since he mentioned he wanted to start writing daily again, a Jack Willis t-shirt that was a deep blue with the 'JW’ on the right side where a pocket would be placed if it had one.

“What’s this?” He asked picking up a bag, normally you always wrapped your presents for people, so he raised his eyebrow at you, you just smiled. “Go on.” You added, you were so happy that Joe was so happy. Opening it he pulled out an envelope.

He opened it carefully and pulled out two pieces of thicker paper. “What…” He asked as he turned them over and scanned them over. “Tickets to LA?” He asked surprised.

“Mmm-hmm.” You nodded with a smile, watching his eyes light up. “Really?” He looked up at you, “Yeah! For Oli and you to go visit Caspar.” You explained although you were pretty sure he figured that much out.

“Babe!” He stood up, wrapping his arms around you giving you a sitting hug. “Thank you so much.” He whispered, kissing your cheek. “You are the best.” He grinned, “yeah, you leave tomorrow night.” You added casually figuring he hadn’t looked at the date yet.

“Tomorrow?!” He looked at the tickets and back at you. “So you can enjoy your birthday with your best friends… While it’s still you know, kind of your birthday.” You laughed. “I have to tell Oli.” Joe laughed.

“Oli knows… He has for a good week, arranging everything with Caspar LA side.” You explained…

… You sat on the bed you shared with Joe as he packed his suitcase, you were refolding his terrible fold jobs.

He sat down beside you, “thank you, this birthday has been amazing.” He smiled. “You’re welcome.” You laughed happily. “No, I mean – I’ve never had someone not related to me, put this much effort into something for me.” He kept focus to you. 

“I love you, I wanted you to have a good birthday.” You pointed out and he shook his head. “I had an amazing birthday, babe. Absolutely the best.” He cuddled you into him, his hand rubbing up and down your arm. 

“You’re the best, absolutely the best.” He said. “You mean the world to me, I don’t think you realise.” He watched as you glanced up to him. “Thanks Love.” You blushed. 

“Anyone would be lucky to have you. I’m just glad it’s me that gets to.” The more he kept talking the more gushy you felt, putting your hand on his chest. “I love you, so much.” He said. 

“I love you, too.” You said. 

“I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it and just be glad that I am. Thank you for being so amazing.” He continued. “It’s easy being amazing when you’re with someone amazing.” You pointed out. 

“Oh stop.” Joe whispered. “Thank you babe.” He added and you nodded, “Happy Birthday, Joe.” You kissed his cheek.

Of Offending Jumpers and Christmas Cheer

Happy Christmas to the incomparable Nai (jamespotterstolemyknickers)! I’d really love to edit this to death and add a bit more, but I didn’t want Christmas to pass without you receiving your gift! I hope you enjoy what little I did manage to squeeze out :)—————————————

 “Deck the room with lots of tinsel, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la, la—” Balancing precariously on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, Lily leaned forward slightly as she aimed a loop of the silver foil over a sconce. The loop missed, and the tinsel floated merrily to the floor as Lily wobbled for balance. “Fuck.”

A voice chuckled behind her. “That doesn’t sound like very festive language.”

Lily narrowed her eyes and shot a half-hearted glare over her shoulder at her co-head. “Festive died about twenty minutes, five finicky garlands, and a package of tinsel ago.”

James laughed—a deep, throaty sound that caused heat to pool in Lily’s cheeks and flood throughout her body. She was all too aware of how she must look; hair mussed and strewn with tinsel and holly, not to mention clashing horrendously with the vibrantly red oversized jumper she’d nicked from her father’s closet the previous summer. A jumper that was not only emblazoned with a poorly knitted reindeer, but did little to hide the fact she’d abandoned her school skirt in favor of stockings and little else. Her blush deepened.

But if James had noticed her less than decorous appearance, he gave no indication. Instead, as she eased herself from her perch on the armchair, he favored her with a bemused grin. “You are aware, Evans, that you are witch, a magical witch with above average skill and intelligence, currently decorating a room in a school for magical children, without using any form of magic?”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Have you every attempted a decorating charm, Potter?”

He shrugged, “Our house elves usually do the decorating.”

Lily grinned and tossed a strand of tinsel his way. “Give it a go.”

“Give what a go?”

“You’re a wizard, a magical wizard with reasonable skill and intelligence. Surely you can use magic to decorate a room in a school for magical children.”

James’s eyes widened slightly and his lips quirked at the corners. Lily felt that rush again—the kind she was feeling all too often those days—and she studiously averted her eyes, casting them about for a new object of focus. “The banister on the boys’ staircase.”


Lily narrowed her eyes in challenge, and forced herself to adopt a haughty tone. “That’s where I want you to drape the tinsel. And make it neat, please. None of this slipshod, half-arsed decorating nonsense.”

James’s smile widened. “Watch and learn, Evans.”

James made a great show of rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie before arching an eyebrow in her direction. With an exaggerated flourish, he tossed the tinsel in the air, murmured beneath his breath, and brandished his wand towards the banister. The tinsel shot forward, then careened slightly to the left before floating gently to the stairs, it’s tail end brushing the banister as it fell. “Buggering fuck.”

“Why, Mr. Potter,” Lily laughed. “That is hardly festive language.”

“Accio tinsel,” James muttered. He raised his arms again, this time narrowing his eyes and making—in Lily’s opinion—a concerted effort not to glance her way. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress what she knew would be an inevitable grin, as James once again sent the tinsel shooting towards the banister. This time, the offending decoration managed to tie itself in a series of knots before settling in three gentle loops at the base of the rail.

James whirled around, knocking his glasses slightly askew with his wild gesticulating. “The tinsel is bewitched! It’s the only explanation.”

 “Sure it is, Merlin.” Lily patted his arm placatingly. “Whaddya say you help me decorate the muggle way?”


“You’re telling me they bullied this Rodulf guy until his inexplicably shiny nose was suddenly convenient to them, and muggles find this a heartwarming Christmas story?”

“It’s Rudolph,” Lily hedged. Thirty-five minutes, a handful of expletives, and a plait full of greenery later, the Gryffindor common room finally had what James had deemed to be “an acceptable amount of Christmas cheer.” Of course, their attempts to summon any unused bits of decorative material had only ended in further abuse to their persons. It was in untying a particularly stubborn strand of garland from about Lily’s neck that James had finally commented on her jumper, sparking—in Lily’s opinion—a highly unnecessary debate about the merits of the story of Santa’s reindeer. “And yes, I suppose that’s the gist of it.”

James scoffed. “It’s rubbish, if you ask me. Everyone knows deer can’t fly. What, is this Santa bloke a wizard? Charms on large animals are highly regulated, y’know.”

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingertips, and dropped heavily onto the sofa. “It’s a story, James. For children.”

James followed suit, knocking knees with Lily as his sudden weight sent her body careening into his shoulder. Lily felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of her chest, the kind she was feeling all too often lately. The kind that made her cheeks flush and her skin tingle. The kind that made all the lights seem just a bit too bright, yet sounds just a bit more muted. Except, of course, for the sound of her own pulse, which seemed to beat through the room louder than a herd of hippogriffs.

But if James seemed to notice their sudden proximity—the way her head was suddenly pillowed against his chest, the way his arm was curling possessively about her waist, the way his fingers were teasing the hem of her overly large jumper—he gave no indication.

“Yes, but you are the one wearing a jumper with a stag on it.”

“It’s not a—”

“And hardly an appropriate jumper at that!” His voice rose an octave, sounding mildly strangled to Lily’s ears. “Merlin, Evans, have you never heard of trousers?”

Lily bit down the grin threatening to split her cheeks, and instead forced what she hoped to be an indignant expression. “What are you on about, Potter? Weren’t you and Black going on about how fit girls look in skirts, just this morning?”

James spluttered slightly, and Lily was pleased to see a hint of pink tinge his cheeks. “School skirts, Evans. Of a regulated length. Not—not—I mean, you—I, I…for fuck’s sake Evans, I can nearly see your arse!”

Now Lily did grin—right before laughing loudly as she swatted at his arm. “Oy, and what would you be doing looking at my arse?”

 James regained composure as he shrugged, then grinned devilishly as he caught her wrist between his fingers. “Can’t help myself,” he leaned closer, until Lily could feel his breath hot against her lips, his nose just a hair’s breadth away from brushing hers. “It’s a damned fine arse.”

“Is it, now?” she breathed, body growing still, green eyes locked to hazel.

“Yes,” he whispered back. His own eyes seemed to be moving rapidly, albeit infinitesimally, as if he couldn’t decide where to let them rest. As if he was trying to drink in all of her, all at once.

Lily was dimly aware of James’ grip of on her wrist slackening, and of his fingers instead entwining themselves with hers. She was dimly aware of her free hand moving on its own accord to grip the base of his tie, of his free hand settling somewhere along her hip just beneath the hem of her jumper. Of his index finger brushing the stretch where stockings and skin meet, soft as a butterfly’s wing. Of his cinnamon-sweet breath warming her too-sensitive lips. Of her own tongue darting forward in anticipation, in preparation.

“James?” She whispered so softly she wasn’t sure she had spoken at all.

“Lily,” he breathed, eyes flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes.



“Don’t you shu—mmph.” Lily’s eyes widened momentarily, the quickly fell shut as she allowed herself to become consumed by James. His breath mingled with hers at the source, as his lips finally—finally—crashed against hers with an intensity she hadn’t imagined possible. Lily had partaken in countless kisses before, but none of them had ever been quite like this.

James’ lips were wind-chapped and rough, but even the fiercest pressure felt like a caress against her own. Somewhere along the way her hands had fisted into his shirt and his and threaded through her hair. She could feel herself falling back against the sofa, the jumper that had started this all riding up against her ribs. His left knee was digging into her thigh and her right ankle was hooked around his calf, but all she could feel was the pure heat of him, the perfect weight of his body covering hers, the trail of kisses across her lips, her jaw, her neck. She could feel his breath and her heart and the rightness of it all.

But most of all she could feel the sudden stillness of his body. The rush of cold as he pulled away. The mild fear looming behind heavy, clouded eyes. “I’m sorry,” he breathed as he started to disentangle himself. “I mean, no, I’m not.” He chuckled nervously. “I shouldn’t have, I know, but I just couldn’t help myself. I mean, fuck, Lily. You have to know. I—”

“Shh.” Lily placed one finger hurriedly against his lips, grinning broadly as his eyes widened behind wire frames. Using one hand to gently cup his face, she twisted the other through his tie and tugged his lips back down to hers. She kissed him long and slow, caressing his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, before nipping gently with her teeth and pulling away slightly. “Happy Christmas, James.” She flushed pleasantly at the stunned look on his face, then squirmed as a predatory glint flickered in his eyes. She tugged at his tie again, and arched her back to allow his hand to slip beneath her. “Now, what was it you were saying about my arse?”

anonymous asked:

Do you think you could do tiny sequel to the spies fic, "Quite the Figure?" I'm a sucker for badass AUs. ^_^

You can read quite the figure here. Emma is a spy and Killian is that voice in her ear. When Emma is tortured at the hands of her employers to verify that she is not in fact a double agent, Killian helps her put herself back together.

it’s called trust.

It doesn’t take him long to show up at their meeting point - an abandoned warehouse down at the docks that used to be occupied by a scrappy fighting ring, chased out by the good ole’ agency in the name of secure espionage and secret meeting…things. The smell of salt and fish hangs heavy in the air and she winces with every rattled breath, wishing they chose something a bit more hospitable. She isn’t sure how much longer Mary Margaret is going to buy the ‘Oh, I just went for a walk at the docks after work’ excuse when she comes home smelling like an old salt-dog. She hears the short clip of his shoes against the concrete, metal grinding against metal as he pulls back the door, and the headache pressing behind her eyes flares in irritation.

It wasn’t a good night.

“Swan, are you - “ he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth when he finally gets a look at her, eyes going wide. She’d laugh at finally being able to shut him up for once if her ribs weren’t aching quite so bad. “Fucking hell. We need to get you to medical.”

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anonymous asked:

S2 theory: the thunderstorm doesn't stop and the campus floods- hence the water related troll-ish tweets from the cast/crew. this would free the anglerfish leading into season 3

I’m trying really hard to imagine it being terrifying but all I can picture is this big fish floating merrily around campus going “WHEEEEE”

How the Grinch Loved Christmas

A/N: I’ve crazy busy in real life the last few weeks (days especially) and completely disconnected from Tumblr and all of you, so my apologies for that. This is my (terribly late) Christmas gift for my CSSS, @ofswansandcaptains, who asked for Killian and Emma’s first Christmas together. Hope you had a wonderful holiday with your loved ones, darling! It’s been such a pleasure getting to know you Xx


It is exactly three weeks before Christmas when Henry tasks she and Killian with acquiring a tree to trim for their home. He has a horrible habit of getting what he wants, so when he sends them off towards Geppetto’s Tree Lot with a grin and a wave after breakfast at Granny’s one morning, she bites back her sigh, forces away the frown threatening to tug down the corners of her mouth, and musters up what she hopes is a cheerful smile for him.

Grin and bear it – that’s her motto for the day, and while the assignment sounds easy enough, Emma knows absolutely nothing about pine trees, let alone how to pick one out to take home. She and Killian split up as soon as they get to the lot though, both determined to fulfill the first item off of Henry’s Christmas to-do list.

He presses a lingering kiss to her lips, bumping his nose against hers with a soft smile, and gives an encouraging squeeze to her fingers before departing down the left path. Emma scrunches her nose as she watches him go, wondering if maybe she should have gone with him (misery does love company) or if she should just let him do the choosing (and save herself from having a hand in the matter). But she remembers the look on Henry’s face, the brightness in his eyes and the excitement all but radiating out of him, and it propels her forward in the opposite direction Killian had gone.

She reminds herself that she is doing this for Henry, that she is determined to get a tree for him (and she is determined not to be a Grinch this holiday season).

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