Pretty blorbo creep

This is probably one of the dumbest things I do, but sometimes I think about whatever the equivalent of power creep is in my books—pretty blorbo creep. The point of diminishing returns on loveliness? All of my characters are the fairest in the land, but occasionally I’ve sat down and tried to rank them for my own edification.

Here’s my current list, btw, from most to least beautiful. This is completely unserious:

  • White
  • Nice / Galahad (sorry, they’re tied)
  • Lynx
  • Charis
  • Durant

White and Nice have the edge on being supernaturally lovely. Galahad is just freakishly beautiful despite being completely human. Lynx and Charis are bringing up the rear as also human, but, you know, kpop idols so still gorgeous. I think Durant has more charm than bewitching good looks, but I do think he’s very handsome, too.

I want to toss another character up there, but if I did, I’d have to out myself on my Super Secret Pen Name, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that commitment yet 😛

Tripping Over POV

So, POV. It’s a real thing, huh? Most modern books are written in a close limited third person (so you’re in one person’s head but calling them by their name. Think, “John did this. He also thought that.”) or first person, where we’re on an “I” basis with the narrator.

I’ve never been a huge fan of reading or writing in first person. It just feels a bit too close. I want some narrative distance. Also, if I’m here to fawn over the blorbo, I want you to tell me blorbo’s name 10 million times, thanks. Remind me that we’re here for blorbo. And tell me how pretty they are.

You know what’s really not popular? “Head-hopping.” You know what I really like to do?

Yeah.

It started when I read this one author’s stories that were just the most catnippy to me. At first, their prose was repellant. It was like a seasick merry-go-round with the POV changing every few paragraphs …but then it grew on me.

I started reading danmei, which plays fast and loose with POV. I’d say it tends toward omniscient POV. I’d also say it dips into the heads of any character it damn well pleases.

And now I’m here, with a style that doesn’t seem very popular, getting slammed with terrible reviews at least half the time. I always think… I know the prose is like that. I did it on purpose. Sorry.

But am I, really? Not really. Not enough to stop, when I really think about it. There are things about my writing style that make me insecure and things I’d like to do better (always!) but I think… this is what I’m interested in pursuing for now, for better or for worse.

So I’m trying to get better about not cringing away from it and just embracing it and letting it be, instead. I don’t think it’s going to be everybody’s cup of tea, but I hope that there are some people reading my stories who like them. Maybe I’m writing for those people.

I know that at the end of the day, I have to be writing for me because the only guarantee I ever have with my books is that I’ll have written them. If no one ever likes them, if they don’t ever sell, I need to have gotten enough joy out of the process of writing that writing will have been enough. You see?

Thoughts and character ramblings

Thinking about Charis since I just spent three months writing about him. He was simultaneously kind of peaceful and frustrating to write because he feels like he’s on the other side of some plexiglass from his own thoughts and feelings. Nice feels like that, too, to a lesser extent, but I think Nice is so much more chaotic and prone to acting out that it doesn’t feel so muffled in there. Like you can hear an echo.

They both end up supported by people who love them; I’m hesitant to use the word ‘found family’ because of the kind of aggressively Pure connotation it’s taken up in some parts of the internet. Plus, Nice ends up supported by family with no other qualifiers, considering he marries into it.

But I think the tenor of that support changes, too. Charis’ found family, in the form of his members, feels much more tight-knit and a bit more careful. I think Charis is very honestly surrounded by love, care, and support by his peers. Nice’s family doesn’t love him or each other any less—they very obviously love each other so fiercely—but I think they’re just as chaotic as he is, in their own ways.

They feel like… that big house of people scattering in different directions, and it makes sense. After all, they all have their own lives.

Finished a book

Here to lie flat facedown on the floor because I finished a book, hallelujah.

It occurs to me that when I say that, I have to specify reading or writing or else people get confused. But yesterday I finally glued my ass to the chair and finished writing Fairytale.

I don’t know why endings are so hard for me— or well, I guess I do. I tend to second-guess myself a lot when it comes to endings. I don’t have a lot of confidence for being able to land the plane well, which leads to a lot of planes in suspended animation, just sort of hovering until they fall out of the sky.

Which is to say, I realized I’ve developed a very bad habit of getting 40k-80k words into projects before jumping ship and abandoning them for shiny new WIPs. I’m trying to stop doing that because where at first I thought it was a manifestation of different interests, now I mostly think it’s a manifestation of fear.

The end is usually pretty close whenever I decide to jump ship. Maybe it’s just hard to make decisions. Saying yes to one fork in the road means saying no to all the others, and the closing of possibilities can seem scary—but it doesn’t have to, right?

This is just a stray thought that I’m marinating on, but I think I’d like to do some kind of personal challenge for the year. Maybe I can call 2024 The Year of Endings if that doesn’t sound too horrifyingly ominous. I’d like to make my peace with endings. Maybe I’ll try to finish as many things as I can. Sounds kind of uncomfortable. I better get some gold stars for this. (Literally, I’m going to buy stickers. I’ve had some galaxy-themed star stickers in my Amazon cart for ages now.)

Because it’s not just fear of choosing the wrong ending, I think. I avoid endings even when I’m reading, even when I’m watching things. There’s just something in me that squirms away from a certain kind of emotional discomfort, and I’m really so sensitive when it comes to fiction. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but I do think I want to get a little better at holding my hand to the fire. I want to know how things end. I want to stop keeping myself away from things I love because of some inchoate fear.

Anyway! I felt guilty for not writing today for all of a hot second, but since I just finished writing a novel yesterday, I think I actually deserve a break. On the subject of endings, I picked back up a danmei I had paused in reading, Evil as Humans, which I’m really liking and I’m about halfway through. I’ve been reading it all morning, and I have a small pot of jook simmering on the stove.

I think I feel pretty good today. Kind of hopeful. Maybe I’ll do a little bit of sketching later.

There are still some extras I want to write for Fairytale, but I think I will save that thought to percolate for another day.

Silent Night

I have been so anxious lately. I’ve been wishing for good health. And praying—lots of that, too. I feel better and worse in a lot of ways, lately? I don’t know, I’ve been feeling very scrambled. I’m trying to keep up, and I’m trying to slow down.

I just stopped spending time with some people who were not very good for me, and yet I still miss my friends.

I’ve been encouraged every time I go outside lately. “Touching grass.” I feel like I’ve been getting peeks over the wall, little breaths of fresh air, those moments where you see that the world isn’t so bad, isn’t so unsafe. That there is help and comfort and friends everywhere.

But still, sometimes I’m anxious. I’m perhaps trying to be a little more open. I’m trying to relax. Maybe we’ll see how long it lasts.

I finished the short story I was working on last time. It’s called Silent Night, and I think it turned out kind of strange and beautiful. It’s about a painter with a single-minded devotion to his art and another painter who’s floundering his way into a new medium, manic-eyed and struggling. They get together, but I think they’re still lonely. There’s something about art school… with your dedication to your craft so big and between you, how close to another person can you really get?

It lives here on Patreon for now. It’s roughly 7k words long, and I think I would like to revisit Heechul and Kaoru again some time in the future, but I feel good about where this story leaves them.