half of fic research is rereading the fandom wiki four times for obscure character info and the other half is googling shit like “when did we start using drywall in home construction”
As a lot of people aren’t familiar with plot creatures, I thought I’d shed some light on the members of the mental menagerie…
The Plot Bunny – Story ideas that come bounding in and start multiplying.
The Plot Chicken – They squawk, flap around, and shit everywhere, but
when you actually need to do something with them, they scatter.
The Plot Sloth – Takes its sweet goddamned time turning into something useful.
The Plot Mule – When you mash two plots together and get something
cool, but you can’t get a sequel out of it to save your life.
The
Plot Cat – Lazy little bastards who take up your headspace, scare away
all the other plot bunnies, but won’t actually do anything except lay
there.
The Plottweiler – Barks loudly and viciously so you can’t
ignore it, distracts you from everything else you want to write, but
leaves you too paralyzed with fear to actually put words down.
The Plot Squirrel – Cute, distracting, full of nuts, and just TRY to keep up with that train of thought.
The Plot Bedbug – Shows up during the night, chews on you so you can’t sleep, and disappears in the daylight.
The Plot Tick – Burrows in, bleeds you dry, and leaves you with the creepy-crawlies. Mostly preys on horror writers.
The Plotroach – Totally unappealing, but so tenacious they’ll survive anything until you finally give up and write them.
I feel like when you’re writing, organizing chapters and dialogue is easy
but jfc, the amount of time it takes to constantly keep people moving and make sure they’re in the right spaces and trying to come up with wording for it is always such a shock.
Like, fuck, I made you pick up a coffee cup, you need to put it down at some point. also I can’t remember what I dressed you in, can you push up your sleeves? I don’t remember if you even have your shirt on.
and YOU. YOU OVER THERE, you got out of your chair earlier, but did you come back yet? Are you coming back? Where did you even go and why’d you get up? Fuck, I can’t make you sit down again already, you just stood up, go…over there. go get more coffee. Did you bring your mug with you? fine. bring the pot to the table and—wait, wasn’t the coffee pot already over here? shit, hold on, I need to go back and re-read and re-write
this is the most relevant thing i have ever read.
I think one of the most wild things as a writer is the sensation that you’re not actually directing your characters– they’re sort of directing themselves, and you’re scrambling around attempting to copy down whatever it was that they just did, but they don’t wait for you to finish copying. They just keep walking and talking and moving around and existing of their own volition and at some point you look up and you’re like “WHOA OKAY EVERYBODY BACK THE FUCK UP WHERE ARE WE”
It’s kind of like trying to write sheet music for an orchestra while it’s playing
BettSplendens Tumblr Evac 