Pretty toaster, happy toaster. This one can do bagels.
Fan Fiction: Writers, Readers, and Enablers
This thread is for fanfic recs, links, and discussion, but not for actual posting of fanfic.
Plei, marked. Today is squatting on my head and making rude sounds.
One must SUFFER for one's writing, one must SWEAT BLOOD and use said blood for one's ink.
Nuh-UH! Not! Well, not always, anyway. I wrote Plainsong in under 90 days. Paaaaaaainless.
neener neener neener.
Of course, if you're discussing the sort of fiction that goes into balancing a personal chequebook - blood as red ink - oh yes. That one is rivers of sweat and grief.
Hyperbole, exaggeration for effect. Dare one say--metaphor?
Dare one say--metaphor?
No.
(seriously, don't you start giggling when people start seriously rabbiting about how there's no art without pain? Come on, truth? I always want to give them cookies and kindly encourage them to declaim. But I knew you were ribbing - anytime you see me write neener neener, I've turned into the Infant Phenomenon. I never neener when I'm being an adult.)
don't you start giggling when people start seriously rabbiting about how there's no art without pain
Generally I nod politely and find reasons to be elsewhere. Cause the thesis might be worth discussing if they weren't working out their "I never got to be a soap opera actor" issues.
Cause the thesis might be worth discussing if they weren't working out their "I never got to be a soap opera actor" issues.
"Declaim! Declaim!"
You forgot the heartfelt sigh and soulful gaze.
writing is sometimes very painful, and at one point I thought I would never finish the aforementioned story (not Triptych, which wrote itself) and it had me having a semi-nervous breakdown and also? Tears of frustration. JUST SAYING.
I prefer the classic "pace in circles, tug on hair, mutter under your breath" form of artistic frustration.
Plei, I'm not saying pain and art can't or don't go together.
I am, however, saying that not all art is necessarily the direct product of pain and suffering. Some is, some aint, some is just more like "damn this is hard work I think I want to go shopping for a few hours now".
It's the whole "I must live in a garret in Paris and write Serious Things and say no to my quarterly dividends cheque because Lunch is the Enemy of Art" thing that leaves me giggling wildly. Whenever I bump into it, I want to offer the person doing it their choice: either a good pasta dinner and an accompanying lecture on Getting Over the Gertrude Stein Reincarnation crap, or else a crowd of sarcastic people clapping sardonically and saying things like "declaim!"