Crowley: Maybe In Another Universe Im Not In Love With Someone Who I Know Can Never Love Me Back And

i’ve been involved in fandom for years but tumblr has always seemed so daunting so i’ve never rly tried to use it but hey i’m here now what’s going on help

The Pink Phink | Director: Friz Freleng | Studio: DePatie–Freleng Enterprises | United States, 1964

all i’m saying is if someone wrote a gomens fic w femme aziracrow based on casual by chappell roan i wouldn’t be complaining

(PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE)

writing long adoring comments on fics is my passion

I stare at the screen for hours, trying to make the words come out, but they won't. I can't compel myself to take a break, because there's this voice screaming at me from the base of my brain...

"You've been told you're a great writer, and you want to be a published author. But all you have to show for it after forty-four years are a dozen crash-and-burn writing projects. When you have the time to write, you don't, for a host of reasons. If you don't have something written by the time you die--which comes closer with every passing day--you've wasted your gifts, you've wasted all the effort people put into educating you, and you've wasted your life. So sit down and WRITE, you worthless piece of shit!"

How do you get past the paralysis caused by the obligation to produce? Is there a way to trick your brain and your body into writing? Or do you just slog on through, no matter how long you have to sit there to get a thousand words a day out?

Perhaps you could try to be kinder to yourself.

I always give myself permission to write or to do nothing at all (staring out of the window or at a wall is okay). After a while spent staring at a wall it's often easier to write.

Remember if you write a page a day -- 300 words -- at the end of a year you'll have a 100,000 word novel.

Just finished Editor's Note.

Kindly,

Fuck you.

No, not kindly. You are entirely at fault.

For everything.

I have never in my life felt an emotion so strongly, one that I cannot place. The best way I could describe it, is an eagerness so tense I cannot move without letting everything out in a half-scream groan of resolution.

It's as if I am crying without tears or the rock in my throat that won't let me speak... thank you.

And thank you for the immense inspiration and elation I have for my own writing after reading this.

Now to read your Kravitz/Taako fics, I'm so excited.

this is so gratifying omg 🥺 thank you so much for reading, sorry for the not-rock in your throat 💛

just to hide outside your door 🐍🍎

do you guys ever like forget you're interested in something until you start engaging with it again and you go "oh wait i'm like crazy crazy about this yeah"

Hello! I am a young -like, under eighteen- aspiring author and I am currently writing a book. I am nervous about the whole affair and would enjoy some advice! Why, I pretend I hear you asking? It's because I'm worried that the... uh, excrement will hit the fan.

I would really appreciate tips, especially from you, cause you're a literary genius and an author, so if you have any tips- well, I'd appreciate the advice.

In other words. HOW DO I WRITE PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS!

Thanks!

You write. You finish things. You write the nest thing. You make your peace with the things you write not being as good as the things in your head. You keep writing.

Once you've started writing things that aren't as bad as the first things, you start letting people see them.

Hello Neil,

in S2 we see Crowley in the bookshop throwing books mindlessly away when something gets his attention. Even thou it is so Crowley it leaves me shocked each time he does it (I'm a bookseller).

Are those real books? What would Aziraphale say if he ever finds out?

Hope you don't mind me asking. -Shen.

While those were real books, they were also highly trained stunt books, and they had rehearsed the bit where David Tennant threw them down, so none of them were hurt.