hey cutie!! my friend recently got me into your amazing fic and i love it so much you have no idea. the sense of community it brings and the love i can’t. i was wondering if you had any ideas you were willing to share or memories you have while you wrote part one. love you!!
Aw this is so cute.
I tell this story to everyone because it’s just so cinematic in my brain but when I was first writing Cadence I put all of my plot points on sticky notes and hung them up in my closet so they could easily be rearranged. Every time I wrote a part that was on a sticky note I got to take the note down like some pseudo-Christmas calendar.
Anyway so fast forward several months, we’re still in the throes of post-COVID, and I’ve been locked up in my room since lock-down — I was in university then and had recently moved back in with my parents — writing all the time — yes, my parents were concerned. They know about the fic now and my dad even found it online recently. It was mortifying. Thanks Goodreads — and my dad comes in while I’m writing on my bed. I’ve got the biggest closet in the house and he says he’s got to put something on the top shelf. I’m a moody gal in my early twenties with a record player and a crippling yaoi addiction so I ignore him in favour of writing whatever love confession Remus is giving Sirius in his inner monologue before I remember.
The sticky notes.
It’s crazy. I have written things like “insert funny one liner about dead mothers” and “look up how many miles from ? To ??” The bloody boner chapter is in there. My handwriting’s terrible because I wrote them in a hurry thanks to the divine inspiration that was bestowed upon me by whatever righteous force handles The Gays.
It was too late. My dad opened the closet doors and whoosh the little scraps of paper came fluttering down like feathers during duck season. (I like this line. I may use it in something in the future.)
For those who are wondering, yes I’m sure I handled it well. Like any good writer I leapt out of bed and scooped my magnum opus up off the floor along with a handful of cat hair. There may have been some hissing involved — not from the cat — but that was really the least of my father’s worries.
He told me later that he was just happy I wasn’t doing drugs. The neighbour’s son did ketamine during lockdown and ended up in the hospital. I’m happy to report I’ve never done ketamine, but I have researched what it’s like to do ketamine on a patchy sofa in London, 1978.
