fandomsecrets | [ SECRET POST #4389 ]

[ SECRET POST #4389 ]

⌈ Secret Post #4389 ⌋

Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.

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Notes:

Secrets Left to Post: 01 pages, 09 secrets from Secret Submission Post #628.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
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Is anybody else beating their head against a brick wall just trying to think of ideas or is it just me? Anybody feeling happy and accomplished with their writing? Anyone want to share WIP snippets? This is a writing thread.

I finally finished a long-term WIP and now I seem to just be in this twilight zone of WANTING TO WRITE SO MUCH and not really having the ...mental energy?
It's so frustrating. I wanted to write so much while the WIP was being slooooooooowly finished, but I felt guilty if i didn't work on it....

And i had all these ideas and snippets of stuff....and now i'm sort of just floundering around. ARRGH.

Here's a snippit, if you like - a Bucky/Steve post-Avengers apocalypse AU that messes with timelines and such (the Winter Soldier made an appearance years earlier, etc.)

"Fuck," he spits, and the word is - that is - that's a good word, that's …. "Scheisse, ублюдок, diu nei lo mo!, he says, panting, feeling a weird sort of impending doom with each curse. But he can, he's allowed, he's a grown man, I can say what I want, damn it, don't be such a putz, Ssss…..

"Fakakta," he mutters, but the fall of the water is drowning him out. It’s drowning out everything, even the constant hum of the lights, the throb of the generator. The water is falling clear, now, strong and steady. He's standing naked in a - fucking - latrine, knife in one shaking hand, too - damn - scared to stick his head under the water.

No.

He moves, deliberately, under the spray. It's warm - warmer than his body, at least - and he swears he can feel each individual drop as it impacts his skin. His now-sodden pants and socks are lumped near the drain, and he pushes them away a little before tipping his head forward and then back, the water pushing his hair away from his face. It feels strange, to be barefoot. To be wet, all over. Strange to feel water coursing over his face-

He snaps his head down, gasping, but the latrine is still empty, the doorway a bright rectangle that shows the deserted corridor and nothing else. He stands there until he's soaked, until his hair is flat to his skull and the water is steaming, humid in his lungs, soothing.

The knife transferred to his metal hand, he crouches down, slowly, stealthily, and reaches for the soap. He snaps the lid open with his thumb after a moment's confusion and then stands up, fast, scanning the room. He’s breathing too hard and too fast; the heat and steam are dizzying.

He lifts the bottle overhead and squeezes; feels the cold, thick gel glop down onto his head, his shoulder, his back, running down. He keeps squeezing until the bottle is crushed, and then he lets it drop. It's squished flat in the middle, the bottom and top still holding some pale-green soap. It bubbles as it slowly reinflates.

He scrubs at his hair with his flesh hand, foam crackling in his fingers. Scrubs the strange, dead-numb edges of skin that disappear under the metal of his arm. Scrubs across his chest and down to his belly, to his thighs, then back up to his neck, his jaw, and chin. A cautious, fast swipe over his face and instantly he's blinking, blinking, his eyes tearing. It hurts.

He tips his head back, letting the water flow over his face, into his half-open eyes, blinking and blinking while his hand continues to scrub. The sting eases, and he jerks his head down. He watches water bounce off the metal of his arm, off the knife; watches foam cascade to the tile, swirling, running in thin lines down the sealed-shut plates of the arm.

He cups between his legs, rubbing; reaches back and then forward again. A little shivery frisson of sensation makes him dart looks wildly around the room, but it goes away, it's fine, he has to get...between his toes, behind his ears (grow potatoes back there, did you even use soap), until he's rubbed and scrubbed and sluiced everywhere. His skin is pinking, the water is so warm, and it's hypnotic, to stand there, as the water falls and falls, rumbling, hissing, numbing-

Edited 2019-01-11 00:31 (UTC)

I seem to just be in this twilight zone of WANTING TO WRITE SO MUCH and not really having the ...mental energy?

Yep, this is me after NaNo. I actually finished it and felt so proud of myself and had a million ideas and now I'm just back to my old slump!

I'm not in the fandom but I like your excerpt.

Yes, exactly!
I really wish i could just get the *energy* back - i hate how my brain just won't *brain*.
*flails*

Thanks! :D

idk about you but my day job is sucking everything out of me

hope we both get over this soon!

Bleeeeeeech.
My job isn't, in the sense that it's super-hard or super-busy, but i do stress over it, since i'm trying to do something I have no real clue how to do. So that's...unfun.

I hope we do, too!

I'm thinking about writing original fic with characters inspired by some real people and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I've read published books with characters who are clearly based on real people so I guess it's an accepted thing? Maybe? But in a way I kind of feel like it's unethical or...plagiarizing almost? I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Do you guys have any opinions on this subject?

OP here - I think it's fine. Someone once described it as "casting those people as the actors playing your characters". And stories tend to change from what you originally conceive them as. You could start out writing about those people and they could end up transforming into completely different characters. Nothing that is written just comes out of nowhere, we're all using something as a template and a lot of times it's existing media but it's also the world around us in general. I think that's been true for the history of writing.

I'm having the opposite problem as you, got a great idea but I'm just so unmotivated to write. I'll probably write it out someday... maybe...

I sometimes get that too - lots of 'concepts' but not sure how to flesh them out into actual plot? And idk it's not lack of motivation it's just this big wall/lack of mental energy. :/

In my head it's an epic romance where the characters have all these obstacles to overcome but eventually live happily ever after. In reality I suck at writing romance and when I described the general plot to a few friends, they said it was too cliche and just overall bad. So that's discouraging and now I'm not quite sure where to go with it. : /

Are your friends romance readers? Not having read your stuff I don't know, but what they think are cliches MIGHT just be tropes.

My problem is never ideas. I have fucking ideas out the hooha. My problem is I seem to have an issue in giving my stories a conflict, so the set up is all fine and dandy and then... I wander off because there's no conflict to move the story along and I don't know where to go.

Maybe I should just take that 'kill someone' tip and see what happens, lol.

Ohhh yeah no, I do that too. Like I'm afraid of hurting my characters.

I’m working on a fic and an original story. I was doing fine with both, but I got really lazy between Christmas and New Year’s and now I’m trying to pick up where I left off, but I feel like I’ve lost the rhythm for both stories and it really sucks.

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