Tag: Anonymous

Pssssst. Hello, beautiful person ❤ once you get this, you must share five random facts about yourself, and then pass this on to your ten favorite followers ❤

I think I know who sent this. But it’s okay, I’ll do it in the name of love!

1) My favorite thing in the world is getting haircuts. I love everything about the process, and the stylist I go to now is my spirit animal.

2) I have never in my life been able to start a knitting pattern (even ones I’ve written myself) without screwing it up so badly that I have to start over at least once.

3) I can be brought to tears in less than 3 seconds because of overactive tear ducts. Laughing for even a second, yawning, blinking rapidly, sneezing. All make me cry.

4) The first time I was ever paid actual money for a piece of creative writing was for a Sailor Moon fanfic.

5) I only found out yesterday that I’m highly allergic to bee stings (I’m 32).

How can I be more appreciative of what I’ve got? I get full of self-loathing for not appreciating my life when I read about my tumblr people who have so much less. Then I feel even worse for feeling so sorry for myself. You seem to have had a shit time recently, but you’re just like, you do what you gotta do. How do you do it? How do I channel that?

First of all, Nonny, thank you so much for the awesome compliment.

You know, in all seriousness, I’m a pretty practical person by nature. Easy going, too. The older I get the less I like to waste my time worrying about everything, so if there’s something I can’t change right away, like my circumstances after the divorce, I just roll with it and try to find a way to polish the turd. I haven’t always been the way I am. Most of my adult life I’ve suffered with anxiety and a panic disorder. But to be blunt, after my dad died, I totally had that cliche moment of realization that life really was too short to piss around being miserable.

However, I have never seen the point in comparing my situation to someone else’s because that’s the surest way to feel like crap all the time. Fact of the matter is, someone is always going to have it worse than you or me. There are always going to be people living in cardboard boxes, starving children, rampant war, and disease. But that does not at all invalidate your problems. It’s a sliding scale. You have a standard of living that’s all your own, and when things go to shit, it doesn’t matter that someone else has it worse. Why? Because it’s not you. Everything is relative. You should never ever feel bad about feeling sorry for yourself. Just go ahead and feel sorry for yourself and then find a way to get over it.

I tend to be that optimistic asshole who says shit like, “well, yeah, this bad thing happened, but I’ve got all these good things going for me, so it’s all fine,” and make you want to punch me in the face. I don’t believe for a second that bad things last forever. They never have for me, and I’ve had some really bad things happen. I find more value in being happy and focusing on the good things than the bad things, so that’s what I do. I’m not sure I can tell you how to channel it, except to say that you just have to force yourself to look on the nauseating bright side until it just becomes a habit. And when the horribly tough stuff happens, just ask yourself, “how much of my energy and negativity is this worth?” And after awhile the answer will almost always be, “not much. Life is short. Fuck it, I’d rather be happy.”

You’re you and your friends are your friends and strangers are strangers. Your lives are different and things affect you differently than them. And people who make you feel like shit for feeling like shit about your life, are shit people, and are to be avoided. Let’s face it, Tumblr can either be an awesome place of support or a cesspool of assholery with nothing but people who want to bring everyone else down for having the audacity to have feelings. How dare you be down if you’re white/male/cis/het/wealthy/other popular privilege, etc. Ignore that bullshit and process your issues on your own without thinking about other people, because there’s no one but you who’s feeling your feelings, and you have every right to get down about whatever brings you down. Just like everyone else. Cause we’re all human. I find myself taking everything as it comes because when it gets down to it, I do what I need to do without thinking of what other people’s opinion on my suffering is. Because it’s none of their damn business. Then I get over it and move on. And that’s that. 😀

Mshenko, Shep has a panic attack?

(As someone who used to suffer debilitating panic attacks, this is relevant to my interests.)

Sometimes it’s a slow burn that starts at the tips of his fingers. Creeping up along his arms to his spine and then down until he’s almost numb from head to toe. Too many cameras pushed into his face. A sea of unfamiliar faces. The words won’t come and he can’t move even to cover his face from the glare and the noise. No one knows and no one cares to help him so he’s frozen as his throat closes.

Other times it’s quick, like a shot to the chest. He’s lunging out of bed, gasping and dizzy. His legs won’t respond and he slips to the ground, heaving breaths that never give him enough oxygen. He’s drowning, sinking below the surface. His mind is a cloud that won’t focus. Can’t focus. He’s lost. Lost and he’ll never resurface. He’s going to die like this. Fuck, he’s–

“Shepard.”

It always ends the same way. Or starts to. A warm hand on the small of his back and a honey-whiskey voice in his ear. “Shepard.” Like he’s reciting a poem or a prayer. “Breathe with me, Shepard. I’m here.”

Steady in and out. Back and forth. Slowly it all comes back to him. The most important things. His reality. The lip scar. Salt and pepper temples. Amber eyes. Strong arms. The reassuring grip of long fingers. It always, always, ends the same way. With Kaidan Alenko. His lifeline.

this isn’t a typical drabble request. not for ME or video game sorry. can you write something based on a question? my question, why do i hate my body so much?

First off, you really want me to not write a fanfic? Brevity aside, though, this is a very important question, so I will answer it for you in short, original story form. And I honestly hope it helps you. And by the way, if anyone else out there thinks this sort of thing helps, please send me an ask and a prompt and I will fucking fill it. There are more ways than one to ask for help if you need it, and I want every last one of you to know that I will do what I can if you ask. I don’t even care if you stay anonymous like this asker. Thank you, Nonny, for trusting me with your question!

LIFE

It’s my birthday, and I’ve had so much fancy food, wine, and cake that I can barely move. My girlfriend’s on the sofa watching Dirty Jobs, and I am standing in front of her. “Why do I hate my body so much?” I ask.

She doesn’t even pause the show as she answers, “you shouldn’t. You’re beautiful.”

It’s a platitude and we both know it. I’m surprised because she never says trite things like that. I stare at her. She stares at Mike Rowe. After a moment she pauses the TV. “Take off your shirt,” she says. I do. My bra disappeared somewhere between the first and second helping of cake. Her dark eyes slide to my body and she gives me a once-over in light bright enough to make me uncomfortable.

“See something you like?” I joke with a hitch in my voice that even the wine can’t stop.

“Yes,” she answers. “Lots of somethings. Your tattoos that all have meaning. I like to watch the bomber girl on your ribs when I’m between your legs.”

That makes me smile. She doesn’t have any tattoos. Says she doesn’t like them, even though she traces the outline of the cherry tree on my back when we’re in bed and she wakes up before me, getting bored as I attempt to laze the morning away. “I didn’t know that,” I say.

“Of course you didn’t. You never have the confidence to look at me while I’m looking at you. But you are beautiful. Real, you know? You never decided to let some plastic surgeon inject your face until all the smiles you’ve ever had disappeared. You never asked some doctor to cut off all that loose skin and stretch marks that define your love of good food and a difficult pregnancy. You never had anyone put silicone in your breasts to cover up the fact that, for a year, your body – and your body alone – sustained the life of another human being.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or tell her that she should have been a counselor. Mike Rowe disappears from the screen as she turns the TV off properly, and stands up to approach me. She doesn’t touch me or look anywhere else except my eyes. “You can talk to me about everything that’s happened in your life before we met when our clothes are on and you’re covering up what you’re ashamed of, but I don’t understand any of the stories until you’re in front of me like this. None of it is real to me until I’m looking at your life written all over your body. And I think it’s amazing because you share it with me and let me understand it. That’s why I think you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. Your whole life is beautiful.”

Maybe you can relate to this: the satisfaction of getting a first draft down, out on paper. Sure, it reads something terrible. Filled with hideous adjectives, weird tense changes, stilted dialogue. But it doesn’t matter, coz, the idea is out there now. And that’s the hardest part. Now the fun can begin: shaping it to perfection. That’s how it works for me, anyway (this comment had a few re-writes).

Pretty much this, Nonny. My first novel was a mess. Hot mess, even. I looked at it and thought, “there’s no way I can fix this.” There were parts that literally made no sense at all. Like, zero, from writing sessions at 3am when I was 8 months pregnant, on bed rest, with nothing else to do while the Nerdler was kicking my ribs into submission. But, even so, it was there. The story was fucking there. In all it’s horrible, cliched, tense-changing glory. And let me tell you, nothing felt as good as that. A huge weight was off my shoulders. Gradually I delved back in and it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. The rewrites were massive in scope and scale. In fact, I hardly recognize the first draft to what it became, but it seemed very much like I’d climbed a mountain and was on the downhill slope finally.

And that’s what I want every writer wishing to become an author to know. That uphill battle of a first draft is a war that must be fought. But no matter how bad it sucks, it can always be fixed. However, if you don’t write it down, there will never be anything to fix. Don’t get stuck in an endless editing cycle of perfecting one chapter before moving on. That’s a form of procrastination so that you never do move on. Write it, let it be shitty, and deal with it once the big picture is finished. I’m not saying you can’t ever go back and edit, but keep it to a minimum. And if you can’t control yourself, ban editing from your first draft process entirely. The only editing I do on first drafts is when I reread a previous chapters to get a sense of where to kick off the next. It is not a proofreading read through. Just a way to get myself back in the universe and set the tone. I fix misspelled words or comma errors if I catch them during a quick read. But I never, ever pause too long and take up time editing. There’s an order to getting your writing done, and editing is not Step 1.

Lastly, know this. Once you complete a single story you’ll be amazed at how quickly subsequent ones come together. The first story or novel or screenplay or whatever always takes the longest. But that’s because you’re learning how you need to do things. There’s no one method that works for everyone. Once you’ve figured it out, though, you’re golden in all future endeavors. So figure it out and keep going! You’ll be infinitely pleased you did!

Heartbreak: reading a drabble that’s been sitting in your drafts for ages. It’s really good! But then it stops. Dead. No more. Why?! Why didn’t I finish this? It could have been amazing.

Dear Nonny, if you ever find the answer to that age-old question, I’m sure all the writers with unfinished words here as well as artists with unfinished drawings would love to hear about it! 😀

However, I can tell you why I personally have unfinished drabbles and stories. It’s usually because I get a good idea or scene in my head that’s incomplete and I think I’ll be able to resolve it while I work. But then it stalls and I save the draft hoping to get an idea for it and come back to it later. Of course, sometimes that never happens. Other times I just forget about it all together. Either way, there are always stories that end up untold or collecting dust on the hard drives and drafts folders of computers the world over.

Now if it’s something you honestly do want to finish, then print it out or move it to a folder where you won’t forget about it again. Then let it stew in your mind and see if anything comes of it. Just don’t torture yourself about it or stress that it has to be finished, or else you might end up preventing yourself from getting fresh ideas because of it. There’s no time limit on drabbles or fics, so no worries. Going over a few scenarios in your head might get the ideas flowing again. Eventually.

Thanks for the rant! I had this same rant at my partner the other night. Only it was less eloquent. Sometimes I feel excluded from some tumblr communities coz I’m white, female, cis, straight, and rich. I’m left feeling that because I’m those things, I can’t support those different from me. I can help, and do: I’m teaching my young brothers not to be the bigots their parents are. Matthew 7:12 is still relevant even though I’m an atheist.

You know, Nonny, I like people like you. You’re important. Because you are like a lot of people in my family. You honestly do want to help and feel like you get whiplash when you try. People ask for help, you outstretch your hand, and it gets bitten. My dad was extremely religious, and he used to say, “what we’ve forgotten is that ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ is the bare minimumof what we should achieve.” And I think he was right. Teaching your children and your family will pay out much later, but it’s hard to not see results sooner. But it also helps to try and get people to understand that if they can’t get behind you, they should at the veryleast accept who you are and not try to change it or belittle you for it. And I include everyone in that statement; marginalized people and not marginalized. 

I don’t belittle anyone for being straight or male or rich. Hell, I wish I was born some of those things. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if I was even just one of those. Because, let’s face it, the only thing I’ve seen this exclusionary activism accomplish is making me unaccepted by the queer AND straight communities. Bisexuality is practically a disease to both. Talk about not fitting in. :/

Don’t know if this counts for much, but you’ve given heaps to us tumbler people this year! I’ve been lurking for a few months now. You were one of the first people I found and I fell in love immediately. If I could write or draw you porn, I would. Sadly, I can’t. So I’ll stay hidden being these cool sunglasses. Love and hugs.

Wow, thank you, Nonny! I’ve only been on Tumblr for a few months by now, so that really does mean a lot that I’ve made an impact for someone! I do feel better knowing this! I love you, Nonny!