"This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important."

Gary Provost (via tuongexists)

Holy crap, what just happened there… (via cyrusgabriel)

Words, man. Words.

(via bookoisseur)

(Source: qmsd, via kit-moosebuckle)

I GOT AN EMAIL FROM TUMBLR THAT SAID MY DASHBOARD WAS LITERALLY ON FIRE SO I RAN OUT TO MY CAR WITH A FIRE EXTINGUISHER BUT IT WAS A FALSE ALARM

DON’T DO THAT TUMBLR

MY DASHBOARD WAS NOT LITERALLY ON FIRE

Meeting your favorite author

itsonlythefirstdraft:

33 Animal GIFs That Are Guaranteed To Make You Laugh

(via tristinawright)

smashempaaschem asked: Are you planning on attending the karaoke party? I'm going to VanCon & want to know how drunk I'll need to be. Just kidding. But I am curious about what to expect.

Yes, karaoke! I know I need to be drunk-diddly-unk to get up on stage, from past karaoke experience. I’ll let you know. From what I understand, very few people get picked anyway. I just want to enjoy the spectacle, I think. :)

What did I do today, you ask?
I did some very important Adulting.

What did I do today, you ask?

I did some very important Adulting.

journeyintheimpala asked: DC con is almost here! *_* I'm so excited

I KNOW RIGHT?! TWO WEEKS FROM NOW I WILL BE THERE! *emits constant supersonic humming noise*

THings I am obsessing about in the two weeks leading up to DCCON.

  • Is there a way to acquire about a bazillion realistic little bees without bankrupting myself
  • how much kale do I need to source for andythanfiction and what does one even wear with that much kale? This is actually a much more interesting fashion dilemma than I’m used to.
  • is there a classic rock song that isn’t ridiculously long, doesn’t have a 2 minute guitar solo in the middle, that I can sing well enough to put my name in the karaoke hat with
  • will seeing that many Supernatural fans in the same place overload my circuits, when everyone around me understands that reference for once

This Is What Goes Through My Head When I Edit My Own Writing

terribleminds:

Who wrote this drivel?

Shit, it was me. It was me.

This thing reads like a fucking VCR repair manual. Is this even English? It’s got all the grace and elegance of a drunk girl puking in a potted plant at a frat party. It’s got all the speed and potency of an old man with a colostomy bag rolling clumsily down a shallow hill. It’s ugly like the winking sphincter of a sick giraffe. IT’S TURDS THE WHOLE THING IS TURDS AAAAAAGH FIRST DRAFT? MORE LIKE WORST DRAFT AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT

I DUNNO IF I’M RIGHT

I DUNNO ANYTHING

WHO AM I WHAT IS MY VOICE WHAT IS THIS PIECE OF MONKEY DICK I WROTE

AGH AGH AGH AGH

*ten minutes of sobbing*

Okay. No. It’s cool. This is where the magic happens. The first draft is just me dumping all the puzzle pieces out. But it’s still a jumbled image. This part is where the art lives. This is when the story is smashed together, piece after piece. I can make it all make sense! I can polish this turd to a burnished, blinding sheen so bright it will blind the very heavens!

Thank all the gods and all the devils for good editors.

These notes are great.

Though they remind me how terribly inadequate I am.

But that’s fine. I’ve got a shaky flashlight. I can see the way forward.

Okay, see, yeah, all right, this part’s pretty good. And I thought it was terrible when I wrote it. Sweet. Nice. Yes. Gold star. Trophy. Triumph. Except, this other part I thought was awesome – that I need to be awesome — is clunky. Kludgey. I’m reading it and it feels like I’m chewing a piece of dry bread and cheese — it’s a hard slog and I can’t swallow it oh my god the reviews when this book comes out are going to murder my soul.

*shallow breathing*

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It’s all just pieces. Start big. Go little.

Every component just needs some attention. That’s easy. Take a wrench to this one. A hammer to that one. We fix things by breaking them. This is surgery.

Sometimes you stitch. Sometimes you chop off a limb.

Nice. Yes. Things are looking better.

I’m feeling good.

Moving along at a nice clip, now

OH HOLY FUCKMITTENS A GIANT PLOT HOLE

*falls into it*

*breaks narrative ankle*

*spasms*

crap crap crap crap

This thing’s like a Sarlacc pit — a suppurating desert canker. You could lose a whole Rancor Monster in this thing. It doesn’t make sense. Where’s the logic? What was I thinking? Was I high when I wrote this? Did someone else write this? IS THIS A PRANK BY A TIME-TRAVELER? This doesn’t feel right. The character wouldn’t act this way. This doesn’t feel authentic to the time or the place or the scene or my writing or to ANY AND ALL OF REALITY shit shit shit poop crap fuck balls cocktaco jizzwich shimmering blumpy nuggets AAAAAAAAA

*takes 15 minutes to commune with the sparkly collective intelligence called ‘Twitter’*

*trades witty banter with other procrastinating writers*

*improves mood by four micrometers*

Oh! Oh my gosh. Look. If I just rewrite this one tiny paragraph, add a couple hundred words, it ties everything together! Ha ha ha! It’s like a little knot! Like I’m tying a shoe! That’s all, a quick loop and lace and here we are, all fixed, all tidy, we can start to run again and –

GODDAMNIT this thing is so delicate, so sensitive — I moved once piece and now ten other parts don’t make sense. I removed one little widget, one tiny flywheel and now the watch doesn’t tell the right time in fact it’s not telling time at all but instead broadcasting HONEY BOO-BOO in Portuguese by the love of sweet saint fuck aaaaaagh

*starts kicking holes in manuscript*

*takes an axe and starts chopping out whole paragraphs, chapters, characters*

*guzzles vodka and Red Bull*

*plays Xbox for a while*

*takes an angry nap*

*hastily rewrites destroyed sections*

These characters are stupid –

This plot is transparently bad –

I HATE THIS BOOK WITH THE BURNING STENCH OF A GARBAGE FIRE

I am inadequate as an author

Possibly as a human being

Nobody should let me near words again

BECAUSE I’M MESSING THEM ALL UP

theme what’s theme mood THERE IS NO MOOD this isn’t a story arc so much as it’s just a dead clown in the desert whose innards have been eaten by coyotes and whose gassy carcass is now the home of slumbering lizards everything is soggy and deflated and the tension is blown out like a nail-popped wheelbarrow tire and everything is falling out into the mud and the slurry

gazza booza fuzza wuzza

bbbbbbbbbbt

oh god help

hold up

what’s this now

hey wait

this section is pretty good

that section’s not bad either

man I kinda love this character

editing is rewriting is rewriting is rewriting

it’s better now than it was

that’s a good sign right?

DEAR UNHOLY DEMONS, IT’S IMPROVING

maybe it doesn’t suck as bad

maybe it doesn’t suck at all

woo!

I’m doing it!

I’m editing it!

I’m turning a piece of lead into — well, not gold, exactly, but at least a reasonable facsimile of something that isn’t terrible! It’s amateur hour alchemy, motherfucker! it sucks less! I suck less! everything sucks less! I HAVE SUCKED THE SUCKITY SUCK FROM THIS SUCKY SUCKFEST

THAT’S ONE CHAPTER DOWN

SIXTY MORE TO GO

*cackles and weeps*

giuliabo1:





Unknown source

I think the source is probably a dark corner of hell, really



He something lite and cheery before bedtime;)Also the last comment!

giuliabo1:

Unknown source

I think the source is probably a dark corner of hell, really

He something lite and cheery before bedtime;)
Also the last comment!

(Source: shoulderblades, via amirosebooks)

Here are my rather disorganized thoughts about Metatron downloading his sum total of humanity’s stories into Cas.

Cas recognized Dean’s reference, but like he recognized Metatron’s reference as a quote by someone (I can’t remember offhand and this little meta-let is very very offhand), Cas doesn’t really UNDERSTAND the reference and how it relates to the conversation. Just because he can tell you about something doesn’t me he has learned how to process all this information.

He’s like a computer with a massive database of information, but without any software to process that information correctly.

He’s like a savant who can tell you what the weather forecast was every day since he was born, but can’t tell you anything else about those days.

Metatron threw a billion tennis balls at him all at once and expects him to start juggling.

And Metatron doesn’t get that disconnect, because he has his own disconnect. He thinks of himself as an author, but really he’s a secretary who took enough dictation from his boss to get a bit of a feel for the way words flow. He’s a plagiarist. He’s a fraud. Eventually that’s gonna blow up in his face.