how to survive as a writer

writers: how are we gonna top ourselves! we got tons of exciting stuff in store!! at least eleven big bads this season!!!! whos gonna survive who won’t????!! 3 love triangles and 2 quadrangles!!!! 

me: I’ll Pay You 5$ To Let The Characters Just Simply Talk To Each Other For Once

A brief and ugly summary of surviving cold climates

For visitors and writers alike.

  1. You were never meant to be here. Never forget this. You are an ape of the equator, built to run the savannah and swim in tropical waters. Whatever terms and conditions your body has, they are void here. Mother nature never certified to function in a Death World.
  2. Enduring the cold is never a matter of “how much” as much at it is “how long”. Think of it as the water levels of the vieogames you have played. No matter what equipment enables you to remain longer, you can’t stay there indefinitely. The coat that keeps you warm and toasty for three hours in -15 is enough to keep you functional for an hour of -40.
  3. Whatever the locals say, listen to them. Err to the side of caution if you must. You may not endure what they can endure, but you SURE AS FUCKING NOT cannot survive what they say cannot be endured.
  4. That being said, alcohol is a filthy fucking liar and so is anyone who offers it to you. The warmth it gives is an illusion, and a sign of damage. You are worse off feeling comfortable with a mouthful of whiskey as you are freezing your gonads off stone cold sober.
  5. Winter tires. Studded winter tiers are a MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH when you drive on a frozen road. That being said, whatever the locals tell you that your car will need to run as theirs do, take it. Taking the risk of being pranked is worth survival, and you can always stab their tires in the spring if they were shitting you.
  6. Eat. For the love of god, make sure that you eat. Heavier meals might be unpalatable at first for someone used to lighter nutrition, but maintaining bodily warmth in a cold climate takes up a lot of energy, and you will feel tired and drowsy for a long while shile your metabolism adjusts to producing more heat than Mother Nature ever intended. The skinny people in your party are especially vulnerable, ensure their well-being on a regular basis.
  7. If you have a smartphone/other essential technology on your body, keep them close to your body to keep them warm. They were not designed to be frozen any more than you were.
  8. Sleep is death. SLEEP IS DEATH. Never, ever stop to rest in the cold, if you do not have the means to make a fire/otherwise produce heat. The cold tires you out because keeping warm takes energy, but taking a rest will not return your energy. If you feel the need to sit down and rest because you are tired because of the cold, call for help. This is not a hyperbole, if you feel like you are too tired to go on in a cold climate, CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE. If you fall asleep in the snow, you will not wake up. Hypothermia can and will literally kill you.
  9. Avoid skin-to-snow-contact if you can. It hurts because you were not supposed to do it. Consider ice to be like acid. Touching is bad for you.

Feel free to add to the list if you feel like I missed something.

The Thing About Trauma

It’s not as easy
as being Something That Happened to You,
a package you opened once.

You will wake up in a new ZIP code,
have to wander your way home,
carry a few of the things you love
to this new place
you live in now.

& so you buy throw pillows.
You put up twinkle lights
and have a big celebration,
point at the open windows
and tell everyone who has ever seen you crying,

look,

look how I have not caged myself,
look what I have made
out of two paint buckets
and the blessing of my still-here body,

but, of course, trauma leans into the bar cart.
Spills a drink on the new rug.
Breaks off the door handle on his way out.

Trauma sends you letters,
without warning,
for the rest of your life,
usually disguised as something else— 

a medical bill, maybe,
or a box of photo albums packaged up by your father,
just so you remember
trauma knows exactly where you live—

who did you think built the house?

On the days when you feel ashamed of your scars, your mind only registering how ugly they are rather than the beauty they prove of you having survived, remember that there is an entire art form dedicated to filling the cracks of broken things with lacquered gold. An entire art form that proves that even the broken and damaged history of an object is beautiful and should be treasured. Remember how much more you are than an object. Remember your survival, your journey, your scars deserve to be treasured too.
—  Nikita Gill
The Talmud also specifies that parents should teach their children how to swim. In the ancient world, where much travel occurred over water, swimming was a necessary survival skill. In modern parlance, this commandment means that parents are required to teach their children whatever self-defense skills are necessary for survival. In her book How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household, writer Blue Greenberg recalls an ugly incident in her neighborhood in which a number of antisemitic teenagers attacked and beat a group of Jewish teenagers. The local rabbi’s response was a sensible one, and entirely consistent with the Talmud’s ruling. “The time has come,” he in effect told the parents, “to teach Jewish kids karate.”
—  Jewish Literacy, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin
He said “we are going to war so put on your armor and pull out your sword.”
Only later I realized he was talking about life and my armor was my smile and my sword was my attitude. But my mind was already fighting, fighting him, fighting everyone. Fighting to survive. I didn’t stop to think, I just acted. And that’s how I lost, all impulse, no strategy. He used to love my recklessness but only when he wasn’t the one in danger.
—  giulswrites
And there’s nothing more fascinating than a girl who knows how to love, even after all the trauma ensued. She faced each day with a hope, a hope so deep in her soul that even the devil himself could not take it away from her. She danced with evils and laid with nightmares and survived and flourished and fought her way to the top of wherever she wanted to be. She is resilient in its finest form and she will be momentarily damaged, but she will never be broken.
—  From a Book I’ll Never Write #43
Struggling Through to The End

Is this The End for Sherlock? It certainly feels like it. That ending, while lovely in so many ways, felt a little tacked on and there were so many circles that they attempted to close that I would be surprised if this was *not* the last episode ever.

Was it a great episode?

No.

Did I expect a great episode?

No.

I’m afraid this show broke my storyteller heart back in The Empty Hearse. The shift in tone from TRF to TEH, the utterly disappointing reunion of John and Sherlock, the ridiculous non-explanation we got for how Sherlock survived the fall, the “fan service” that came a little too close to mocking–all that made me feel betrayed and unsure. “Betrayed” sounds like overstating, and s1 and s2 were not 100% absolute perfection, of course, but truly, I no longer trusted the writers to do right by the characterization and story they had set up in the first two series.

I tried to have hope. And TSOT was lovely. So many great things in there, Sherlock learning how to navigate his heart, and, at that point, I was all for Mary.

Then HLV happened.

When Mary shot Sherlock I thought–well, I thought many things, but after I calmed down, I thought, “Oh. So that’s what’s more important then. Things don’t need to make sense. Things just need to get Big Reactions.”

This is not my favorite kind of storytelling. But this continued through s4. Plot over character. Hell, not even plot, just Big Scenes. Some of the Big Scenes were great and I loved them. Some of them didn’t make a lick of sense.

So, since TEH, I feel like I have completely lowered my expectations and just looked for bits to like. This line here. This scene there. Because I had no belief that it would all hold together, that the narrative and characterization would be consistent.

This is a sad little way to approach something I used to love. Like going from whole milk to 2% or something, idk. I kept compromising. “Well, if there’s just one scene that could be interpreted this way” or “if they just don’t kill the baby then that’ll be okay.”

So, in TFP, when John and Sherlock jumped out from a second-story window and there was no mention of injuries sustained, I rolled with it.

When they retconned the entire series from the beginning by having Moriarty meet Euros five years ago, I rolled with it.

When they threw a rope down to a man *chained* to the bottom of a well, I rolled with it.

When they chose to have Eurus force these three to go through all her complicated tests rather than just have her “hypnotize” or “reprogram” John, to whom she had TONS of access, I rolled with it.

When they tacked on the cheesy Mary narration over the ending montage, I rolled with it.

When they…. Well. I could go on and on. But the reason I rolled with it all? Because my expectations were so low. I had been trained to overlook a lot by this point, to sift through a lot of dirt to find a tiny gem or two.

And they did actually do a few things I truly enjoyed in TFP.

John and Sherlock working as a team again–the trust, the banter, the love, the adventure. I had missed that terribly. Mycroft, so much Mycroft insight and development. The scenes with Moriarty (but not the reaction gif bits) just because I did miss him, damn it. And Sherlock’s great big heart being as much an asset as his great big brain.

And one more very important thing, a thing that makes it possible for me to keep writing in this particular Sherlock Holmes universe–

They left the door open. Lots of doors, actually. So we can keep on filling in the gaps, fixing the parts that need fixing, and making our own meaning.

I know sometimes all you do is survive and that may not seem enough but I am thankful for that ,

sometimes all you tell yourself is to keep it together a little longer ,

The bags under your eyes tell me about the lonely nights you survived ,

How many times did you convince yourself that there’s a point to all this ,to all this living even though you can’t seem to find one now ?

Everyday you get ready and pick up your broken warrior heart and teach it to breathe even when it wants to give out

Every single moment you are pushing yourself and you may not see it but I want to tell you, you are doing a great job and remember the universe answers the stubborn.

You will find everything that you dream of if you keep pushing so teach your warrior broken heart to breathe again because
the universe answers the stubborn

—  Kriti.G

Tonight’s episode was amazing. We got Murphy calling Bellamy and the others “his people”, but then sticking with the person he trusts most. We saw Kane actually acknowledging Murphy. Kane trusting that Abby will succeed to keep them alive, and being absolutely right. Bellamy being told that one day he’ll feel like he’s worth to survive. We got Clarke talking about Lexa with her mother. Clarke giving up Lexa for her people’s lives. Roan being a badass king who takes no shit and threats from no one. Monty saving Jasper on the last second. Monty and Harper being more than an one night stand. Literally everyone’s characters being how they should be.

This episode was great and everything seems to be taking a right course. I’m proud of the writers and the cast and can’t wait to see what the next episode has in store for us.

reading about the killers in dead by daylight

we got the “spoiled rich southern farm brat who murdered a bunch of people working for him (with dynamite)”, the “deformed child locked in the basement at birth bc he was ugly and eventually kills his parents (with a chainsaw) before beginning to mutliate animals for fun”, the “nurse who killed like 50 patients before self-immolating” and then we have

“girl gets kidnapped by sadists, survives literally being partially eaten, uses town traditions to escape and track down her tormentors” okay not seein how this is as evil as the others but i guess she’s kinda a wendigo now soooo maybe?

and then we have

“immigrant really wants job but refuses to murder people, tries to free victim. kills corrupt mass-murdering mob-boss” writers i think you need to keep the “evil” level of your “pitiless murders” a bit more consistent because like??? i’m rootin for these two tbh 

?????????? also he has delicate dainty legs that are hilarious to watch him run with. they made him look like a goober

Prompt #106

Submitted by: Jammydoodler

“You know something?”

“What?”

“Humans are kinda amazing.”

“How so?”

“We are able to live after having a limb torn off, survive for up to a century, communicate with each other-”

That one doesn’t count as amazing.”

What? Why not?”

“Because, that one has lead to unspeakable terrors and the death of thousands. If anything, that one is the reason that humans hate each other.”

Sometimes, when I am drowning in my own thoughts, I sit down and think to myself “What did I do to deserve this?”. How did I end up like this? The girl who has always tried to please others and help them survive in a corrupt world. The girl who always managed to smile when everyone else cried and who laughed in the face of evil. What happened to this girl? This very same girl is now sitting down with streaks of eyeliner pouring down her face and quiet screams coming out of her mouth. This very girl has finally been broken.
—  Classy

my mother is one of those women–the innately magic ones. you encounter maybe two or three like them in your lifetime. the moment you meet her and she begins talking, she just weaves this gentle magic of wonder and warmth. she is a profoundly beautiful writer–better than i ever will be. she mostly gave up her writing aspirations when i was born. she concentrated on me. i have tender memories of magic from yarn scraps and table cloths that she turned into tiny carnivals for me to play in. we made acorn ballgowns, they danced with crepe myrtle blossom gowns, and we sent them sailing down the creek in waxy magnolia leaf boats. she taught me how to sew and crochet and cook and survive. now i’m grown and gone and writing, and she is finally writing too. she wrote that essay i just posted. she wrote about Big Mama Thornton for the Oxford American and it’s beautiful and startling. i could weep with how proud i am of her.

Some words about Carrie Fisher

So, I know a lot of you follow me because I wrote 21 tips to keep your shit together with depression. It’s been a few years and I still get fanmail. 

And this is going to be a bit scattered. Bear with me, I’m sad. 

None of this would not have manifested if Carrie Fisher didn’t write Postcards From The Edge. I remember when it came out. Fisher had sort of fallen off the radar and down the rabbit hole of drugs and despair - despite being one of the most sought after writers and script “doctors” in Hollywood, she’d been in and out of tabloids for celebrity marriages and overdosing, and hadn’t been in big movies after her legendary, iconic turn in Star Wars. 

I grew up knowing something was deeply fucked with me, and I’m still -at age 45 - sorting out what that fuckery is and how to survive it. And people didn’t talk about being fucked up - especially not the way I’m fucked up. It Was Not Mentioned. 

I didn’t get the proper diagnosis of “atypical and chronic depressive disorder” until my 20′s, until I’d been through a number of psychologists, psychiatrists, and trips to the ER because my brain and my heart were exploding. 

But there was Princess Fucking Leia, on the podium of fame, saying that she was also, like me, batshit crazy.  And when it comes to stigma - we all talk about garden variety depression but the more complex, permanent mental illnesses - atypical disorders, bipolar, schizophrenia - were and still are Not Talked About and treated with mistrust and fear. 

But there was Carrie Fisher, out there, alone, talking survival, that she knew what everyone was saying and how she was being treated, and how she was surviving a really bad hand of cards. 

Because oh boy, was I a bunhead. My attachment to Princess “Aren’t You a Little Short to Be A Stormtrooper” is deep. She’d already told me when I was seven that I didn’t need a man to rescue me, because I was just as smart and just as capable and these guys hadn’t really thought it through. Now she was telling me I could live with this. r. 

And then as I got sicker, she did it again - she showed up and showed me how to do this chronic disease thing. That yeah, she could do the whole Star Wars Hollywood circuit of premiers and dumb interviews and invasiveness and having to look a certain way- with some accommodations. The presence of Gary the dog at her side was a declaration that she had a disability, making it visible. That the scary pop-culture stigmas of mental illness weren’t so scary. 

You can be fucked up, but you can still function. It may not be how everyone else does it, but you can find your way. But you need to try. None of this will work if you don’t try. 

2016 has been a super shitty year for me - not because of celebrity deaths - but for lots of personal reasons. 2015 wasn’t great either. It’s sucked for a while and I’m tired of it sucking and I’m feeling unravelled.   

And while it is very sad that Carrie Fisher is no more, I’m glad she was on top of her game. I’m glad Gary was with her. I’m glad we had her for the time we did, she left the place better than she found it. 

There is no separating Fisher from the Princess. So the thing I learned from her lifetime of work is to be part of your own rescue team. Show up for yourself. Stop caring what other people think, stop stigmatizing things you don’t understand. And don’t be an ass and punch down or use bipolar and “crazy” as an insult. 

So, on a brighter note, here is a picture of my smooshyfaced fluffy cat, my therapy animal, my sidekick, my Louis, with his Princess Buns on his head. Use the force, kittens. 

  • Captain Swan: Oh god, Kilikins wasn't in ONE episode out of an entire season of romance how could the writers do this to us!?!?!
  • Rumbelle:
  • Rumbelle: *has learned to survive off of one or two interactions per season*
  • Rumbelle: *has endured countless breakups and cruel words*
  • Rumbelle: *has learned to appreciate any kind of healthy conversation, even if it's a heartbreaking fight*
  • Rumbelle: *had no real confirmation of le bangity-bang until Belle was pregante*
  • Rumbelle: How awful for you.
How to be

It’s okay to be a victim most days
It’s okay to not feel you’re surviving
When something is stolen
Yourself, stolen
It’s okay to take a seat rather than march forward
Sometimes you need a rest from the marathon of life
You are not failing
You are not broken
You are healing
Moving on

Sometimes you’ll love someone so much that it doesn’t matter what happens or how they treat you… You’re going to stay and you’re going to be so goddamn in love with them that you’ll convince yourself that their toxicity is healthy for you and you’ll make them the centre of your universe. You’ll swear to yourself that you wouldn’t survive without them and your heart is going to shatter into a million pieces after they leave because you expected the darkest star to light up your whole nights sky.

That’s why love sucks so much, because you’ll set expectations for someone you know doesn’t give half a damn about you and then you’re continuously disappointed because the image you created of them in your head is nothing like the boy who’s standing in front of you.

—  Excerpt of a book I’ll never write