If Your Main Character Isn’t At Least A Little Morally Questionable, Are They Even Fun To Write? Give

the five stages of grief: writer's edition

denial: "this draft is amazing. no need for edits. it’s practically perfect as is." you’re so confident that you close the document for the day, smiling like you’ve just discovered the next great american novel (or swedish, or british, whatever). plot hole? who is she?

anger: "why did i ever think this was good? this is garbage. i am garbage. my characters are flat, my dialogue is cringe, and my prose sounds like a robot swallowed a thesaurus and threw up on the page." rage-quit the doc and go aggressively scroll pinterest for "writing inspiration" that you will never use.

bargaining: "if i fix this one scene, the whole thing will click into place. i just need to write one more subplot, maybe five more chapters, a quick rewrite of the entire ending, and then it'll be fine. totally manageable." queue up 17 youtube videos on "how to fix your plot" that you play in the background while staring at your ceiling.

depression: "i will never finish this book. it’s doomed. i’m doomed. why do i even write? who let me have ideas?!" lay dramatically on your bed, considering taking up knitting or rock collecting instead. cry a little over how your characters deserve a better writer.

acceptance: "this is the best i can do right now, and that’s okay. i’ll take a break, come back with fresh eyes, and remember why i love this stupid, broken story." suddenly, your MC whispers something brilliant, and you're like wait… maybe i'm a genius after all.

and the cycle begins again. writing is a joy.

Certain words can change your brain forever and ever so you do have to be very careful about it.

the first rule of writing is that there are no rules. the second rule is to save your work every 5 minutes because technology is a fickle god.

i have to stop reading immediately after writing

i'll finish my little short story or chapter or whatever I'm working on and I'll be like oh, i should reward myself with a book. and then i crack open a literary masterpiece and proceed to doubt every sentence i've ever written

it has to be said i <3 characters who are victims of circumstances they created for themselves. especially when the bed they made for themselves to lie in is so horribly cruel and punishing that it interrogates the idea that anyone can be truly said to "deserve" anything at all.

ehdotus: vuorokauteen on lisättävä yks tunti lisää ja sitten voin käyttää sen kirjojen lukemiseen

reblog if you’re a writer who feels guilt whenever they’re not writing and being productive, so I know I’m not the only one lol