Prompt Request. Eventually.
Okay, so the problem is this. I want to write something - something *specific* - but I don't know what it is. My imagination is too taken up by mundane horrors; I have no room for plots. I am too frightened, surrounded as I am by the digital shadows of brilliant people. I am too cautious, too on-guard for signs betraying un-ironic earnestness. It is too easy to fall into a cycle between fannish ennui and a need for validation.
I used to write for myself. I used to write *stories*, and I've forgotten how to do that. I used to write love letters, but love has gone out of style, evolved into a game of counting hallmark comments and virtual kisses. Do you like me? Y/N, pick one, pick the first one, look how prettily I dance for you, and I'll only ever sing your name to a daisy with an odd number of petals.
I've forgotten what it means to live young in the wild countries of fandom, unmortgaged and untied. To make friends along the path and not worry about the politics of keeping them. I've nested too deep, settled too comfortably, built brick walls around my sleeping bag. I woke up one day in a society with a thousand written unofficial constitutions, and the forests are paved. I have obligations and I never even signed my passport.
But... that isn't the story I want to tell today.
Tell me what is.
Give me a prompt: a couple lines from a song would be favourite. An item and a vague sense of action. Something I can work with. Just no fandoms or characters or pairings; I am playing an association game today, and when you pose me a question you must give me room to answer.
And then... I will write something. Maybe just a sentence, but maybe something longer. And maybe it will be something you'll enjoy, but I promise not to worry very much about that.
And... maybe extra hand-holding is an unlikely solution to this problem, but it is all I can think of when I've forgotten how to let go.
I used to write for myself. I used to write *stories*, and I've forgotten how to do that. I used to write love letters, but love has gone out of style, evolved into a game of counting hallmark comments and virtual kisses. Do you like me? Y/N, pick one, pick the first one, look how prettily I dance for you, and I'll only ever sing your name to a daisy with an odd number of petals.
I've forgotten what it means to live young in the wild countries of fandom, unmortgaged and untied. To make friends along the path and not worry about the politics of keeping them. I've nested too deep, settled too comfortably, built brick walls around my sleeping bag. I woke up one day in a society with a thousand written unofficial constitutions, and the forests are paved. I have obligations and I never even signed my passport.
But... that isn't the story I want to tell today.
Tell me what is.
Give me a prompt: a couple lines from a song would be favourite. An item and a vague sense of action. Something I can work with. Just no fandoms or characters or pairings; I am playing an association game today, and when you pose me a question you must give me room to answer.
And then... I will write something. Maybe just a sentence, but maybe something longer. And maybe it will be something you'll enjoy, but I promise not to worry very much about that.
And... maybe extra hand-holding is an unlikely solution to this problem, but it is all I can think of when I've forgotten how to let go.