novella month

nohurrytoshout  asked:

Ok holy shit the thing you did for tsukki is amazing and PLEASE DO MORE ABOUT IT!! TENDOU! KUROO? BOKUTO?! TERU?? OIKS!! I DONT CARE!! you are A ma Zi n G ! ! , you can pick one or do it all but separately (which BTW will be so much battah)

Tendou Soulmate AU!!!!
(P.S, every scar, bruise or bump you receive also shows up on your soulmate’s body)
((P.S.S. this is shameless self indulgence whoops))
(((P.S.S.S TRIGGER WARNING! SUBLIMINAL MENTIONS OF SELF HARM!!!!!)))

Ever since he could remember, his ankles were always bruised.

The idea of soulmates scared him, especially how nature put them into action. Sometimes, it was comforting, watching a new, purple spot form on his knee cast upon by an unknown force. It meant the person who was tied to him, whoever she may be, was alive, and human, and making human mistakes, and for some odd reason, the bruises she gave him brought him a certain fondness. On the other hand, it was horrifying. Everytime he received a ball, blocked one of Ushijima’s finger splitting spikes, all the beatings he received as a child, by his own hand and not, all the bruises, the cuts, the horror, it was all inflicted on her. This made him just a bit wary, and all the more guilty. Presuming that she was the same age as him, if not younger, as a child who seemed to be having a happy life, the only cuts on her skin pavement burns from falling off bikes, having to live out the same physical torture he did made him sick. He made a mental promise to himself to hold that girl and never let go once he met her. Although he felt guilty, there was one time of the year where he wished someone would punch him in the eye just to get revenge.

Tendou had no clue what she did. At this point, she had to know he did volleyball, the only bruises he ever received nowadays on his knees and forearms. It was obvious, absolutely so, and he wished her hobby was the same. Every year since he was five years old, spring meant torture to his legs. March through May was an absolute onslaught towards his ankles and toes, bloody and bruised from the first day to the last. Although, the bruises were consistent all year, hinting that whatever she did, it was constant. He wished he could help her somehow, because the pain on his behalf was unbearable, and he couldn’t imagine experiencing it firsthand. He began to think maybe she was doing this on purpose, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a sadistic streak. But why the ankles, why the legs? Why was the rest of her skin so perfectly smooth yet once you hit the bottom, it was destroyed? Rope burns ran down his calves in intricate zigzags, and every time he ran a finger across them, it burned.
“What the hell is this?” He’d ask himself quietly, wondering if whatever this was, was just a weird, western fetish. He figured it was cute though, whatever she did. He saw where the ribbons tied off into a bow, or sometimes just a sharp, quick knot. It probably wasn’t a fetish, whatever she did, but the oddity of it still left him wondering.

One day he woke up and literally couldn’t walk. Last night he went to bed just to wake up with his entire lower legs bruised up. He winced at the sight, borderline black spots covering everywhere from his tip toes to his ankles. She had a habit of overworking herself late at night, he noticed, and part of him was glad they didn’t share the same mental health. It was times like these where he wished he had contact with her. Of course, he could always scratch his phone number into her skin or something, but he had tried that before, and he was honest it didn’t transmit. Every so often though, he’d take a bobby pin, and very, very lightly trace shapes into his left hand expressing his mood. He grabbed it off his nightstand, clicking it open and gently scratching a heart right underneath his knuckles, just enough to break the skin. Sometimes, if she wanted to, she scratched something back, usually a likewise object, but nothing came today. Tendou didn’t mind, he knew he had gotten his message across.

It was May of his senior year and Tendou wanted nothing more than to relish in his remaining time of being a highschool student, but he couldn’t when everyday for the past three weeks coordinates were being scratched into his left thigh. He quite honestly had no clue what to do with them, and didn’t realize they were coordinates until Semi pointed them out in the locker rooms. Curiosity got the best of him that night as he spent hours inserting these coordinates into any webiste he could find. It made him feel like a detective, like he was part of some havoc seeking plot that was never even arranged. Three hours later, Google Earth fatefully drove him towards a studio. He didn’t know where in the world he was, for all he knew, he could be in Austria, or Zimbabwe, but judging by the familiar architecture, he was not that far from home. In fact, he was at home. He zoomed out just a smidge to find the entire Shiratorizawa campus, a sight that made his breath hitch. Whoever this person was, and whatever they did, meant that they have been, and might just be in that studio. The thought of it made his heart pound, and just looking at the address and focusing on the pressure on his ankles, he mustred up all he could to set off towards that studio.


When he was on the subway, halfway towards the train station near campus, Tendou began to feel as if this was a grave, grave mistake. If she was as devoted to him as he was to her, she was sending him in the right place. Then again, it could just be a set up somehow, but he wasn’t exactly sure how a girl in Zimbabwe would come up with coordinates to a building so close to where he lived. The tempest in his stomach roiled, and the closer he got to the campus, the more and more he felt the need to back out. This girl who he was about to meet in t minus fifteen minutes practically knew everything about him. She knew he was bullied, that he hurt himself. She knew the sport he played and lived through his life with him, and it horrified him. He was about to meet his soulmate.

When he stood in front of the studio, he suddenly felt small. Every single fabric of his being wanted him to turn on his heel and jog back home, but he couldn’t. Not when he could see the figure of someone in the window. Now that it was right out in front of him, the answers to all his questions were so painfully obvious. His soulmate was a dancer, presumably ballet, and that explained the absolute torture on her feet. His soulmate was a ballerina, and although Tendou knew absolutely nothing about her, he already had a feeling she was beautiful. After five minutes of loitering on the curb, and five minutes of realizing he must’ve looked like an absolute pervert, he entered, a small bell ringing on his arrival. He winced, for the music that diffused into the commons had paused, a sudden, small, tapping off feet echoing through the room. That’s when the nerves hit him harder. What if that wasn’t his soulmate and he looked like an absolute airhead? What if he got himself all hyped up for nothing? Although, all suspicion subsided when the figure revealed herself, a delicate being with soft eyes and strong legs and a playful, pondering smirk. He knew somehow that it had to be her, absolutely, positively. No words were spoken as she tiptoes closer to him, still en pointe on the tip of her ballet shoes. It looked absolutely painful up close, and suddenly all the bruises he had ever received were explained.
She held her hand up towards him, the small scar of a heart indented right underneath her middle finger on her left hand. Again, she said no words, merely smiling as all the color drained from Tendou face.

He began to stutter, a red hot blush creeping up the nape of his neck. He held his hand up too, sweaty and shaky and motioned towards the small scar of a heart indented right underneath his middle finger on his left hand. He found himself laughing, gasping really. Short shaky breaths left him in staccato, shoving his hands back into his pockets while he tried to articulate just what to say.
“I really don’t know what to say.” Is what he went with, his voice low and raspy. She chuckled, out of sheer and utter nerves and tiptoed closer, her arms immediately draping around his shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mind…” She began, failing to realize his arms were already around her too. “I’ve wanted to hug you since elementary school. You’ve always deserved a hug.”
“Thank you.”
“I really do mean it.” She began again, drawing herself closer to his figure. Tendou could feel his heart pounding, the shocked state that overcame him far too much to bear. “You had a hard past, didn’t you…?” She tailed off, searching for his wandering eyes for an introduction.
“Oh. I’m Tendou. Tendou Satori.” He hummed, lost in the sincerity of her gaze.
“__ __, it’s a miracle to finally meet you.” She smiled, wide and toothy, her grip on the hood of his sweatshirt tightening for some reason. She was definitely excited, he could tell by the sudden sparkle in her tired eyes.
“I know we just met, but would you like to come home with me?” She inquired, her eyes wondering when Tendou cocked his head suggestively.
“Don’t you think it’s fa-ar too early to be-”
“That’s not what I was going at!” She huffed, her attempt at a pout being broken by a smile. “It’s just that… Your life has become mine. For years my family felt remorse every time I came home with a split lip or plastered wrists, and I think it’s only fair you give my mother an apology for all the multiple cardiac arrests she’s received every time she’s seen my bruised eye.”
Tendou found himself laughing at her statement, not knowing if it was all that true or not. Judging by the small smile that still tugged at her lips, it was a feeble attempt at breaking the ice. He shook his head, suddenly growing all the more comfortable towards her and letting his arms fall towards her hips. He hadn’t really soaked up her entire being yet, his focus completely devoted her eyes. They held something he had been longing for, craving for the longest time, they held the same pain and torment he had experienced, the same story and path and trauma. Looking into her eyes he realized he found an equal, a mutual, someone who could finally, maybe, understand him like he understood himself. His soulmate, a dancer who barely lived twenty miles away from him his entire bleeding life, a graceful, beautiful young woman with atrocious feet and ankles, last nights receive routine evident on her bare arms, and knowledge evident in her eyes. A dancer, with scars with anticipated stories lacing up her soft, shaved thighs, fingertips ever so rough from all the Guess blocks he had done, and a small scar of a heart indented right underneath her middle finger on her left hand.

anonymous asked:

How can I write faster? The speed at which i write is awful. The other day I spent two hours getting down four paragraphs, and that's pretty typical when it comes to how fast I write. I feel like I never get anything done.

Hello, dear anon~

Did you know people consider me to be a freak of nature? I try to keep it a secret, but I actually tend to write about 2 novellas every month. You may be wondering why I’m telling you this. And it’s very simple.

I didn’t use to be like this. I used to be just like you actually. When I first got started writing (about 4 years back). I remember, rather vividly, sitting down and spending my entire evening trying to get 300 words done. I remember beads of sweat rolling down my forehead because I had never done anything like that before.

It was hard, but I got better. Now people think that I’m some sort of magical alien creature who doesn’t sleep :p

You want to write faster? I have three tips for you:

  • Stop caring what people will think of you. Learn to turn off that little voice in the back of your head that is telling you ‘people are not going to like this’ or 'people have written better.’
  • Stay motivated. Remember that writing should be FUN. You don’t have to write the 'boring bits,’ trust me they are going to get cut in the second draft anyway.
  • Write more. Like any discipline, you will get better the more you do it. You want to run a marathon? You have to start running little by little. I promise you it will get easier over time, trust me :)

I hope this helps! If you (or any of the writerly cuties reading this) have any questions, please send them my way :D

Keep Writing~

3

We’re so very pleased to announce the three new additions to the Nouvella team! Below, Jeva, Rose and Lauren tell us about some of their favorite written things.


JEVA LANGE

Last thing I read that was so good, not only did it knock my socks off, it stole them forever: I just read Huckleberry Finn for the first time since I was too young to get it, and it blew me away.

Currently reading: Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and Karolina Waclawiak’s How to Get Into the Twin Palms.

Favorite novellaHeart of Darkness is a clear winner for me but I have a soft spot for Breakfast at Tiffany’s too.

Favorite food in the entire world: Diet Peach Snapple is kind of my addiction (I realize I’ve cheated and this is not technically a food).

If someone absolutely forced me to recite some poetry, I would recite: I read “Where They Lived” by Marjorie Saiser in a newspaper when I was a teenager and loved it so much I committed it to memory. I’d recite that.

 

ROSE GOWEN

Last thing I read that was so good, not only did it knock my socks off, it stole them foreverThe Summer Book, by Tove Jansson. I read it not long after reading the first volume of Knausgaard’s book, and after reading Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante—both sock-stealers as well. In contrast to Knausgaard’s  fast maximalism, and Ferrante’s volcanic rage, Jansson’s prose is careful, reticent, and spare, yet the emotion that courses through her story is just as strong. It was instructive to see that something so quiet could be so affecting.  A young girl spends a summer mostly in her declining grandmother’s company, after her mother has died; the father, in his grief, throws himself into work, and is largely absent. Like the Knausgaard and the Ferrante—like all good family stories—The Summer Book asks how one can be one’s whole self in a family while supporting and submitting to the needs and desires of the other members, themselves whole persons, connected, but always separate.

Currently reading: Currently, I am reading Irretrievable, by Theodore Fontane. Like The Summer Book, it is a NYRB reissue. I will almost always buy a NYRB book; that press has led me to books I love, strange and unusual books that surprise me, and books I wouldn’t otherwise have known about, that interest me. Irretrievable falls in the last category: I don’t love it, but I’m interested. Nineteenth century German novel about a marriage falling apart.

Favorite novella: So many excellent works fall into that long story/short novel zone; for today, I will choose as a favorite novella Miss Lonelyhearts, by Nathanael West.

Favorite food in the entire world: My favorite food is a taco I ate in the Safeway parking lot in Guerneville, next to the taco truck; is a cheesy potato pancake I ate in a market in Paris; a blackberry I picked in West Marin in the late eighties; that peach ice cream we used to make; the beef stew with polenta my husband made when I was pregnant with our son; the lentil and bulgar salad with walnuts and tarragon I make every summer that no one likes as much as I do.

If someone absolutely forced me to recite some poetry, I would recite: If I had to recite a poem, I hope I would be allowed to use a book, since I don’t have any poems committed to memory; then I would recite Hopkins’ “The Windhover,” because it is so ecstatic and strange, and sounds good out loud.

 

LAUREN PEREZ

Last thing I read that was so good, not only did it knock my socks off, it stole them forever: Karen Davis’s Duplex. Her prose is like unexpected fireworks–sudden, magical, and a little frightening in its beauty.
Currently reading: Joshua Ferris’ Then We Came to the End. Just started a new job, so it seemed appropriate.
Favorite novella: If I’m being honest, it’s The Crying of Lot 49. OrBartleby.
Favorite food in the entire world: I have very strong feelings about burritos. And pie. Basically filling wrapped in carb casing=A+++
If someone absolutely forced me to recite some poetry, I would recite: in middle school they made us recite a poem in front of the class–something to do with public speaking. I chose Emily Dickinson for length reasons, and to this day I still have “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” memorized. (not really a feat at 8 lines)

anonymous asked:

I was reading the advice on your masterpost, and on one of your answers you said something about writing two novellas a month- I'm curious, is that finished, polished manuscripts or finished first drafts? Speaking of, how long does it take you to revise vs writing the first draft, and any tips on revision in general (or how to get past the "OH GOD MY WRITING IS AWFUL DON'T MAKE ME READ IT" feeling in order to actually revise it)? Sorry if that's a lot for one ask, feel free to be choosy.

Hello, dear anon~ ♥︎

Let’s take your questions one at a time c;

Are my two novellas a month finished?

Technically speaking, those two novellas are finished first drafts. Of course I also spend time in the month cleaning up and doing the second drafts of other books. I was talking about the books I write, particularly c;

How long does it take me to revise VS writing the first draft?

I have to MAKE THIS VERY CLEAR. Every writer is DIFFERENT. I don’t want you to look at my numbers and think that you are a sucky writer because Max happens to be a freak of nature. I have been writing a lot, for a long while, so it’s only natural that I can write more than other people. Think of it like being a bodybuilder. Just because you can’t lift 100 pounds RIGHT NOW does not mean you ‘suck.’ that would be silly. Now, all of that being said. It takes me 15 days (or 35ish hours of writing) to write the first draft of a novella, and usually 10 days or so of VERY VERY INTENSIVE editing before the beta draft is ready. Again, I’m a freak of nature. Don’t take these numbers as gospel.

Any tips for revision?

Yes. I have a few. Here you go:

  • Put your book aside for 3 weeks before editing it. Read it as though it was written by someone else. You need the distance to be able to judge what needs to get cut and what will make it through. Simple as that.
  • Revise your book in various formats. This is THE thing that helps me push through revision so quickly. I don’t allow myself to get comfortable with the story. I edit it on the computer. I print it out. I read it out loud. I use Apple’s text-to-speech to listen to someone read the book for me. You can’t just read the same screen over and over, look at it from many points of view!
  • If you seriously pick up your manuscript and feel like “OH MY GAWD THIS SUCKS SO MUCH” then I think you’re not letting it sit for long enough. Like, the entire revision process is to make the story better. You need more time to get into that frame of mind.

That’s about it! I hope this helps c;

This was answered as part of M. Kirin’s Writing Advice Blitz! For writerly advice, prompts, and more, follow maxkirin.tumblr.com!

So, I just had a thought. 

As much as I wanted to originally post the novella in one big post, I also didn’t really count on it being 40k words either. I mean conception through the first month is 14k alone. And I feel like if I waited until it was completely done and ready, a post that big might be too big to even load properly and I feel like there’s potential for all kinds of issues. Also, given that you’ve all been waiting very patiently, I feel like it’s time.

SO…

With that in mind, maybe it would be a better idea to post the novella in sections (by month) so I think there would be a total of 9-10 sections over the next week or so ish? It’s still the novella and it’s still one large single piece and should be read as such, but this might be a better idea and a good compromise for everyone. And, once all the sections of it are posted, I can see about putting them into one large single post and seeing if that will work, so that anyone that wants to can (potentially, if it works okay) read it in one large post and it will be there as I originally wanted it to be too. 

How does that sound? I know it wasn’t my original plan, but I would be happy with this plan too. Please, please let me know your thoughts and feelings about this idea, so I can decide for sure. Love you. xx.