undertaker1827
Crimson Midnight
Black Butler Writing Blog | Masterlist Pinned | Askbox Closed | Rated teen | Hiatus
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A man goes to see his Rabbi in a panic, and he gets there and he says, “Rabbi you’ll never guess what! My son has run away to become a Christian!” And the Rabbi responds, “Well you’ll never guess what! My son has also run away to become a Christian!” So the man asks the Rabbi what to do and the Rabbi says that they should pray to G-d. So they pray and tell him of their plight and G-d replies, “You’ll never guess what!”
- An old Hasidic joke that my Dad likes to tell me
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I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.
It's right-handed
I am right-handed
There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly
I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.
There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.
I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.
A homo erectus made it
Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.
Who were you
A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?
Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?
Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?
Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?
Who were you?
What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?
What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.
Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?
Or has it always been divine?
Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?
Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.
The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.
Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?
I'm not religious.
But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine
I don't know what is.
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Your camera roll if you hunted with Sam and Dean.
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I had to fit in this one last super-rushed prediction sketch before tomorrow. Hope you find this as funny as I did.
BONUS:
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A quick tip for naming characters
If you struggle to come up with interesting and unique character names, just watch the end credits of a television show or movie.
With international and diverse casts and crews, you're guaranteed to find interesting names to inspire you.
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I haven't seen dancing pumpkin guy ONCE this year, are you guys okay?
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ten years of fighting and when shit hits the fan tumblr instantly has reddit's back. the greatest enemies to lovers story ever told.
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To everyone who has lush fields ripe with story ideas but is struggling to go out and actually harvest them with your writer’s scythe: that’s alright. There’s a reason.
I see writers despairing or making self-deprecating jokes about how many wips they have, as if the ability to come up with the idea is equal to the ability to finish it out into an end product.
It isn’t.
A lot of our ideas come about, not because we were determined to be productive writers, but because daydreaming is an internal escape from life’s demands.
Writing is a demand, too.
Resting and relaxing are basic needs, unlike the high level, abstract satisfaction of being creatively productive. That’s why you might daydream (which is a mild and normal form of dissociation) ideas that you feel good about, and then struggle to research, write the words, fill plotholes, check grammar, revise— all the critical thinking and executive function things involved in creation. Your basic needs must be satisfied before your higher needs can be met effectively.
So, if you’re daydreaming about your stories extensively to mitigate stress, it’s expecting a lot of your stressed self to return from fantasy land, sit down in the cold hard real world and do the hard work to write masterpieces of literature. Those operations are at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Writing is hard. Making yourself feel guilty is only going to make it harder. You don’t have to atone for entertaining or distracting your mind by making that available to other people. Daydreaming is a valid end in itself.
Don’t feel bad about having ideas but not being able to write them. Scribble some notes if you can, if you want, but above all enjoy the escapism and take care of yourself first. The words will come after.
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i’m starting a movement to stop calling this shit “artificial intelligence” cause it’s fucking not. it’s not intelligent, and the things it produces are not informed by logical choices. it doesn’t know how to research sources for you. it doesn’t compose art thoughtfully or meaningfully.
call it machine-generated, text generator, chat bot, but it’s not intelligent.
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[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled “do not stand at my grave and weep” after the poem by mary elizabeth frye. the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]
a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”
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Reblog if you think fanfiction isn't a waste of time.
Reblog if you think it’s a good way to practice writing.
Reblog if you have made friends because of fanfiction.
My sister called it a waste of time and I want to prove her wrong.
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Our system is broken. It is cruel. It is dehumanizing, degrading, and it’s vile nature is so, so unnecessary.
We need universal healthcare today in America. We needed it 40 years ago. It’s cheaper, it’s simpler, it’s more efficient, it’s more effective and it is so, so, so much less cruel than what we have.
Additional sources/references:
Universal Healthcare Cost in America would be cheaper by trillions of dollars
The US has worse life expectancies than socialized healthcare countries
We have worse generalized healthcare results
We have the most expensive care
Our system is so cruel and unique that doctors from other countries literally can’t believe what happens here
I can’t tell you where or how to activate to help solve this. There are politicians, groups, and activists pushing for this in so many ways. I can tell you when, though.
Now.
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