#method writing

[raimik]

when i write my fictional characters, i feel like both a historian recording real events that happened and an actor playing a role at the same time. maybe that's how hours evaporate without my noticing

[quackingcrow420]

I'm doing tequila shots on a Sunday afternoon so I can accurately describe what my character is going through. You are asking chatgpt to describe it for you.

We are not the same.

[littlehistorians]

going to work on the screenplay again once I am mentally sane

[thevoidstaredback]

You've heard of Method Acting, get ready for Method Writing!

If my characters are angry, I'm angry

If my characters are elated, I'm elated

If my characters are hungry, I'm hungry

If my characters haven't slept in three days, neither have I!

[gisellelx]

One of the weirdest aspects of getting deep into Carlisle's character both for my own writing and headcanons and for the ole' sideblog is that I keep on top of MLB because I want to make it believable that he really likes it. And as a result, I kinda have grown to like baseball a disproportionate amount? And have opinions and stuff about a sport that in the grand scheme of things, I don't care about?

It's very strange to me.

[apollos-archief]

i'm losing my mind

[blog-for-water]

Me and the Devil (Blues)

Another DSaF 1940s AU fic :3

Uhm idk if there should really be any warnings except implied gay sex in the beginning and henry just being a controlling asshole but that’s all

The smoke burned his throat. Dave paused his breathing for a brief moment before finally exhaling, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth and wisp into the air. He gently tapped the cigarette against the edge of the ashtray, letting the bits of ash fall from the cancer stick between his index and middle fingers.

Dave’s eyes drifted over to the man next to him, sleeping soundly. Jackson Kennedy.

Dave put out his cig. Softly, he ruffled Jack’s already-messy hair. He took his sweet time taking in his partner’s sleeping form, how even his breathing was, the way the blanket was draped over his half-naked body.

Dave inhaled softly. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he forced himself to hold them back. He wanted to save those for when Jack is awake.

Dave sighed.

His fingers began to gently scratch Jack’s scalp until he flinched at the sudden sounds of knocking at the front door.

Dave’s eyes immediately darted to the bedroom door. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the bed. He made his way outside of the room, muttering curses to himself as he zipped up his pants and readjusted his undershirt.

There shouldn’t be anyone out and about this early, Dave thought to himself. A part of him hoped he would see nobody when he opened the front door.

Tiredly rubbing his face, Dave reached for the doorknob with his other hand. “Who—”

He stilled instantly, his breathing hitched. He swore he heard his heart start to pump loudly in his ears.

Dave swallowed, but his throat felt dry. “Henry…” He murmured.

“William.” The man before him replied. He sounded as displeased as Dave was.

Henry stared at Dave, taking in the younger man’s appearance as if he were picking him apart. Dave did his damn hardest to ignore the way his stomach churned and twisted. He felt like curling into himself and hanging his head low, but he forced himself to hold up.

“I see you have been doing well.” Henry finally said, his voice breaking the silence, yet doing very little to ease the tension.

“I could say the same ‘bout you,” Dave muttered, his eyes narrowing ever-so slightly.

Henry didn’t respond to that. Not right away, anyway. He let that hang in the air, and it was enough to make Dave’s confidence start ebbing away.

“How…” Dave’s voice came out shaky, and he mentally cursed himself for it. “How’d you… Find me?”

“I’m not as stupid as you think.” Henry was about to step inside, but Dave immediately moved, putting his hand on the doorframe and his foot in front of Henry’s.

He glared daggers right into Dave’s very soul. “Word gets around.” He added, reluctantly. “…When are you coming home?”

“Wherever you live ain’t my home.” Dave said. “I may’ve considered it home before, but things change. Don’t act like I meant somethin’ to you.”

Henry’s hands curled into fists, his jaw clenching. “Who do you think you are talking to me like that?”

Before Dave could respond, he felt Henry grab him by his undershirt, pulling him close.

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” Henry said. “Whatever you’re doing right now, it’s not gonna last, and you’re gonna come crawling back to me whether you like it or not, so you might as well get it over with already.”

Dave’s hands clasped tightly over Henry’s wrist, digging his nails into the older man’s sleeve. “Get off of me.” He muttered. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you.”

As Henry let go of Dave’s undershirt, he shoved him, sending Dave stumbling back a little.

“You’ll regret this.”

Dave rubbed his chest, feeling the now loose fabric of his undershirt as he looked up at Henry. “I doubt I will.”

Henry took a step back, the very action making Dave almost spring forward, his hand already on the doorknob, ready to slam the door in the older man’s face.

“We will see about that,” Henry replied.

Dave wanted to say something, but he was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say. He always hated that.

It wasn’t until the faint sound of a doorknob twisting from behind did Dave finally made a move, and shut the front door, locking it.

“Dave…” Jack’s rough, sleepy voice was all Dave needed to hear to turn around, his uneasiness starting to dissipate. “What’re you doing?”

Dave shifted around a little. “Nothin’.” He scratched the back of his head. “Nothin’ you should worry ‘bout.”

“I worry all the time when it’s you.” Jack smiled faintly. He walked over and stood before him for a few seconds, as if he were hesitating.

Finally, he moved, wrapping his arms around Dave. “Last night was fun.”

“Sure hope it was.” Dave put his arms around Jack’s waist, holding him tight, almost suffocating. “God, I…”

The words were caught in his throat, and he just couldn’t get them out, no matter how much he mentally tried to. Instead, he just buried his face into the crook of Jack’s neck, hoping the action was enough to convey what he had been longing to get himself to say throughout the years he’s been with Jack.

[babyspacebatclone]

Anyone else here a “method writer”?

Like, before you can write anything for a character, you meed to spend an hour thinking about their backstory so you know how they’ll react?????

Ironically (maybe), I have to do this the least for my OCs; I have an idea of their childhoods etc., this is the personality they have after that, fleshing out backstory is easy because everything from there will be consistent.

Just open up a a scene in my head, and watch the characters as they go through it naturally.

Fan fiction, however? Even - especially!!! - the fluffy stuff I just do in my head as a distraction?

I keep having to stop, consider the characters’ childhoods (since that rarely gets explored in shows), try to figure out situations that would be consistent with the eventual canon personality, then start up the scene again with this new information and see how they react.

Sometimes I feel like a marionette operator, but the strings are on the scene: No, the character wouldn’t do that, so the scene can’t proceed with that outcome, time to shift things around until the character will do something else consistent with their personality but moves the plot in the right direction…. Let’s try a metaphorical millimeter in this direction….