Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.
To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.
On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.
But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.
At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.
As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.
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when deltarune first came out I bought the OST. I didn't absorb the titles that much because I was basically just listening to the whole thing on repeat. so I'd completely forgotten the name of a certain track, and when I was reminded of it the other day, it hit me like a ton of bricks.
I've never really had a home that truly felt like home, for all sorts of bad reasons. but I find comfort in fantasy, especially undertale and deltarune.
2015 was one of the worst years of my life. when it started, despite struggles with PTSD and depression and more of that ilk, I was physically healthy. when the year ended, I'd nearly died - I'd been in and out of hospitals for months while doctors tried to figure out exactly what the hell was wrong with me.
the hopelessness of learning I had an illness I'd have to live with for the rest of my life, on top of the despair I already wrestled with - it was too much. I decided the only way out was to end it all.
but then I played undertale. there's nothing I can say that would ever do that experience justice, but if you know, you know. the point is, I'm still here. despite everything, it's still me. and that's not a coincidence.
so when I saw that this one beautiful, nostalgic track that wraps me up like a warm blanket every time I hear it, that reminds me of the friends, the family, I first made in these games all those years ago, is called, "You Can Always Come Home"… man, I lost it.
Toby once said about Toriel: "Your mom loves you." maybe it's silly, but I never had a mom who loved me, until her. so thanks, Toby. it means so much more to me than you could ever know, that I can always come home to my friends and family, and my mom. who loves me.
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behold, the product of yesterday's lotr au discussion (for @spacegirlsgang)
Nicolò has not spoken to him in days.
He hasn't spoken to anyone. He walks silently at Yusuf's side, hand always on his sword, eyes always on the horizon. When there are people who need it, he helps, tends wounds and lifts the younger ones onto horses and hands out food. He still does not speak, and Yusuf worries for him.
They have already lost Quynh, and Sebastien. Dizzy and Jay may well be dead by now for all they know, and Nile and Lykon… he does not really want to think about it for long. He only hopes they are alive. And now Andromache, too, is gone, and Nicolò will not speak, and Yusuf cannot help feeling very, very alone without him. It is strange: Yusuf would have thought, just a week or two ago, that he would have been glad never to see Nicolò again. Now, the thought terrifies him.
When they make camp that night, Yusuf takes his place by the fire with his sword across his lap and prepares to keep watch. Nicolò joins him, after a while, but instead of taking a seat and silently watching the horizon as Yusuf has come to expect him to, he speaks.
"You should rest," he says, voice hoarse as if – well, as if he hasn't used it in days. He carries two bowls of stew, one of which he passes to Yusuf.
"So should you," Yusuf responds. He's exhausted, but neither of them have slept much – he's not sure Nicolò has slept at all since they lost Andromache.
"I do not need to sleep like you do," Nicolò says, which almost makes Yusuf laugh.
"Bullshit," he says. "Even you can't go this long without needing to rest."
Nicolò doesn't say anything to that. Doesn't even meet Yusuf's eyes, but Yusuf can tell how tired Nicolò truly is, and suddenly he cannot bear it anymore.
"We cannot keep on like this," Yusuf says. "This is not – if we're all that's left, I cannot do this without you, Nicolò."
Nicolò is quiet, for a while. When he finally speaks, he says, "Try to rest, Yusuf. I will keep watch tonight."
Yusuf waits. Nicolò does not move, nor show any sign of conceding. Just as stubborn as Andromache – well. He doesn't let himself finish that thought.
He waits a little longer, but Nicolò remains silent.
"Wake me for the second watch, then," Yusuf says, finally. Nicolò does not nod, but Yusuf no longer has the strength in him to push. He falls asleep quickly.
When he wakes, it is morning, and Nicolò is nowhere to be seen. Yusuf can only hope he found someone else for the second watch, and that he did not stay awake all night, but he would not be surprised if the latter were true.
During the day, they keep to their regular routine – Nicolò's silence and Yusuf's attempts to find anything to do that isn't think too much – but that night, when Nicolò finds him, he sets his sword down by his side and asks, "Will you wake me for the second shift?"
Yusuf nods quickly, too quickly, and Nicolò smiles, though it is small. It's the first time Yusuf's seen him smile in days.
He wakes Nicolò for the second shift and sleeps after that, and the next night, Yusuf takes the first and Nicolò the second.
It's a start, at the very least.
–
The day after they reach Helm's Deep, Nicolò is the first to see the rider.
He does not realise who it is at first: the figure is too distant. They wear a cloak with the hood pulled low over their face, and lean heavily over their horse, as if injured.
Nicolò's first thought is that it is a scout. His second thought, which he discounts quickly, is that it is Andromache, which. It cannot be. He does not dare imagine it.
When the figure keeps approaching, he shouts a warning to the guards on the walls. Yusuf, who had fallen asleep beside him, his back against the stone, startles awake. "What is it?" he asks, still half-asleep.
"I do not know, yet," Nicolò responds. He gets to his feet. Yusuf follows a moment later.
"I see it, now," Yusuf says, furrowing his brow. Nicolò's hand goes to his bow, just in case. If it is a scout, he will deal with them quickly.
Then, suddenly, Yusuf's eyes go wide, and he curses. Taps Nicolò twice on the shoulder, and runs along the wall, down the stairs, towards the gate, shouting at the guards to open it.
Nicolò looks again, then, and realises what Yusuf has seen. The rider's weapon is just visible over their right shoulder, and Nicolò knows the carvings on its handle, knows them because they are the twin of the carvings on the hilt of his hunting dagger, because both weapons were forged by the same person.
He is moving before he truly has time to process the thought. The gates are opened far too slowly, creaking with the movement, and by the time he can see the rider again she is sitting straighter in the saddle, a wide grin on her face, urging her horse forward. It is only Yusuf's hand on his arm that keeps him from running through the gates to greet her; when Nicolò looks back at him, his smile is bright enough to rival the midday sun.
Andromache.
Finally, she is there, riding through the gates like a king returning to her kingdom, like she had planned this all along, like Nicolò hadn't seen her fall from a cliff only a few days ago. She dismounts easily, before the horse has even fully stopped, and then he is running, and she is meeting him halfway and gathering him into her arms and laughing, even as he thinks he starts crying.
Then Yusuf is there too, and Nicolò has to step back but cannot bring himself to go far, and Andromache hugs him too, while Yusuf laughs, bright and loud.
"Where have you been," he is saying, and "I thought you were dead, Andromache, I thought we had lost you," and she laughs again and cups the back of his neck with one hand and says, "I'm okay, Nico, I'm okay."
"So," Andromache says once Yusuf steps back, too, her grin sharp despite how exhausted she must be. "Tell me what I've missed."
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