Daisy 23
she/they - here, queer, and full of crippling fear
i hate marvel - terfs dni
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
i love firefox
fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome fuck google chrome
Rule
I find it personally offensive how many bad writers can get published so easily.
I used to find it reassuring, like, “Haha, wow, if THIS can get published…” but now I take it to mean “It doesn’t matter if your book is good or not, all that matters is if you’re in the right social circles (and you’re not)”
As someone who used to acquire for an indie publisher … it sucks on the other end, too. We don’t WANT to work on shitty books with shitty writing. But bossman wants to make money, and shitty writer has marketing clout/knows the right people/is already published (even if it’s only online/ebook).
I used to read the most AMAZING submissions I’d be forced to pass on. Like, there was one, a literary fantasy featuring a bi deaf protagonist who learns how to navigate a spectrum of relationships while discovering herself (I don’t want to give too many details out of respect to the author/don’t want her concept stolen) and I couldn’t get it acquired no matter how thorough my proposal and marketing plan was because she was a debut author with fewer than 10k Twitter followers and we needed that advance money for another Fifty Shades knockoff (this was a few years ago lol).
BUT PLEASE DON’T LET THAT DISCOURAGE YOU! If you’re a writer, and you’re trying to get published, don’t give up!! If your first novel isn’t getting traction with either a house or agency, publish it yourself on amazon. Get that “debut” moniker away from your name. Prove you can sell your shit and keep working.
A good agent will work with you to come up with a marketing/publicity proposal. That will be huge in getting houses to notice your work - makes the acquisitions team’s job easier as they can point to it and tell bossman “we have a plan”. Look online for titles that have high ratings/are on the NYT list that can be compared to yours. That helps give acquisitions an idea of what they’re getting into - and how to represent your book to their ED/publisher.
A good agent will also help you target editors/imprints whose lists match your book, increasing your odds of getting positive feedback or even constructive feedback. If I had a submission that just wasn’t quite ready for publication, I’d give detailed notes of what I wanted and ask them to revise and resubmit.
Keep writing! Even if a book isn’t picked up, start your next. It’s so attractive to see an author with several unpublished works ready to be polished if you already like the work that’s submitted. And more writing only refines your skills.
Yes, bad writers get published. And too many good writers, even when published, go unrecognized (if you like southern gothic fiction a la Where the Crawdads Sing, go read The Past is Never, which came out four months earlier and got NO national attention but is BEAUTIFUL). Be such a good writer that you break those odds.
Because you can. I’ve read your stuff on Tumblr. On Ao3. On Fanfiction.net. On Wattpad. You can do it.
This is actually practical advice; thank you.
Zuhair Murad Fall 2023 Couture Part 1
This is true I think, everyone just has very normal and even-minded thoughts and opinions about transfeminine sexuality
Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.
Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.
Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.
You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.
As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.
Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.
This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.
A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.
You find yourself stuck in an elevator with your icon and your username. How happy are you?
some gems from the comments
twinkenjoyer-deactivated2023071:
Gamer moment
true gamers are equal opportunity haters
I used an enby pride flag in league (which gives you a little flag trail behind your character) and someone said to me:
“What are your pronouns so I can insult you properly”
the MOST iconic 20 seconds of any anime dub i’ve ever experienced
EVEN THE FUCKING MUSIC OH MY LORD
this website’s moderation sucks ass and it has a terrible bot problem and there are an enormous amount of bugs but thankfully we have a staff team hard at work not addressing any of these but instead making shitty ui changes that nobody wants