#mpliuwei

[mpxraven]

book talk;

@mpliuwei

Whoever said that the first draft was the hardest was a filthy liar. Or, maybe that was recency bias talking, as Raven sat in The Flower Mill staring at the annotated document on her laptop. Sure, the first draft is always a struggle, but retreading the same ground to revise over and over again was way more of a slog, in her mind. At least things felt fresh and exciting during the first draft.

It probably didn't help that one of her editor's biggest suggestions was to add in a romantic subplot to appeal to a wider audience. As fucking if.

Turning away from the screen, she flipped through one of the reference books she had brought with her. Nothing inspiring there. She basically knew the material cover-to-cover by now. So, letting out an irate huff, she grabbed her empty mug and approached the employee at the counter. "Another Americano. Thanks," she grumbled, leaning against the counter. She watched him for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Hey. Do you think every book needs to shoehorn-in a romance plot?"

[morpheusxmp]

For an opinionated and brilliant artist critic @mpliuwei

One could not really blame him for continuing to explore campus as he did; eventually, his meanderings took him to the museum and library. Ah, yes, the library--so full of creative minds brainstorming and learning, imaginations running amok at times.

At first, he might seem unassuming; just a tall man in a long, dark coat, coming in from the chill of a pre-Spring morning, but the stars in his eyes reflected he was anything but a mere mortal, and his presence...well that seemed just as haunting--not necessarily fearful, but...a lingering presence; some found it comforting, some curious, the feeling of not being alone.

Venturing a bit farther inside, he based in the creativity within the building; a pleasant feeling for certain--but someone nearby did capture his attention, someone seeming engrossed in a book about certain artists who were...less than savory characters (downright awful examples of humanity despite their exquisite works of art) and that, yes, that warranted a closer investigation as the god of dreams drifted silently closer, closer, until he was standing behind the young man, reading the pages the demigod read.

He spoke with that gentle, otherworldly purr of a baritone some rather unorthodox first words.

"Dali was a douche canoe."