#noltilya

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

Once again i'm looking up bjd stuff because i really really want to have an articulated 3d model of a hjinza, but like… no matter what kind of process i'm trying to look up— making one entirely myself, from parts, printing, sculpting… or finding an artist who makes these…

… the sheer amount of humanoid dolls that make me Very Uncomfortable, not to mention the pr0n posts in the tags, just. get me discouraged very very fast.

Aussi, aucune idée de comment chercher le matériel ou le reste en français, histoire de pas importer des trucs depuis perpète, mais c'est encore un autre problème :]

… anyways, if yall have ideas… suggestions… of ressources that would help me make/commssion a vaguely humanoid alien but with *weird* proportions…

(Big head, smol torso, long thin limbs, looooong long hair)

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

random brain thought: i wonder what Murderbot and Tbatis would think of each other. huh.

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

(yes i'm hiding shush)

… doing an explaining/brainstorming session for the tapoti, talking about it to someone who knows NOTHING of my characters and their story…

it's. wild. apparently i can't answer something like 'okay so what happens to them?' simply AND in a way that feels satisfactory to save my life. like, yeah, WHAT happens to oyme!? sure, ey slowly accepts eir own mortality, as does syj at about the same time, so in that way in addition to the others, it's *their* story, but like. THAT'S WAY TOO ABSTRACT. WHAT OF THE CRAFTS. THE LONGUING. THE DECADES-LONG SILENCE BETWEEN THEM FOR FEAR OF BEING OFFICIALLY REJECTED. … also Thawaht rejects monarchy and wants to make eir siblig give it up too and make their home a democracy.

HOW DO I EVEN FUCKEN SUM UP THIS WHOLE STORY.

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

… why did i do this to myself.

why did i not gather all these in one convenient global reference doc *earlier*.

:|

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

Dès que la porte de la vaste hutte se referma sur Tiish, laissant Olnij seul à l'intérieur avec Oyme, ceil-ci marmonna quelques mots qu'Olnij ne comprit pas, et lui demanda de répéter. — Tellement envie d'attraper ce hja par le bras et le secouer pour lui demander ce qui ne va pas avec eil. Choqué, moins par ces mots que le ton grinçant sur lequel le vieil hja les avait prononcés, Olnij se contenta de le regarder avec des yeux ronds, incapable de trouver une réponse diplomate à cette annonce bizarre. En remarquant sa réaction, Oyme grimaça, et déclara avec un peu plus de calme : — D'accord, je ne suis pas vraiment dans mon état normal. Trop fatigué, trop stressé, trop sensible à certaines frustrations… Je vais peut-être te laisser aller seul au dîner prévu ce soir, grignoter un truc à la place, et dormir tôt. Soulagé, Olnij approuva. Eil s'abstint de signaler que c'était préférable de toute façon – eil avait des questions pour Tiish, entre autres sur son attitude envers Oyme, et l'absence de ceil-ci leur permettrait d'avoir une discussion aussi détendue que possible vu les circonstances.

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

i need to rant a bit because oh FORKING SHIRT i’m so. so. tired. of everything.

but like, right now, especially my *continued inability to JUST WRITE MY FORKING STORY*. why, brian, you forking stoopid brain.

like, i know why, partly. existing in the first place (with adhd, anxiety and possibly autism) is kinda hard in general, especially in the middle of winter (yay seasonal depression) even with light seriously coming back.

the world and everything is just So Much these days that my main goal is “get up in the morning, not go back to bed until night, don’t forget to eat and drink some water-based stuff in between”. i got used to go outside again when the weather was light and warm for a couple weeks, but now i’m stuck inside again so it’s mostly zelda playing to distract me from the strong urge of “this is all pointless and i hate myself let’s just go be miserable under my duvet”.

so, zelda works for the main goal. but since i’m awake and doing stuff, inevitably i’ll think about that story. and that’s a Problem.

i first need to gather the will to think about it. concerta helps, but the i also have Other Stuff to do. like, y’know, normal procrastination -_-

if i manage to *actually* decide to write, i usually panic and just mentally nope out right away.

if i remember to have some anti anxiety to block the noping urge, and actually look at what i was working on two weeks ago, i get stuck in the main problems of this project, and this is where i panic again and the hell circle starts turning.

it goes something like this…

- there’s Too Much of everything in there

- i need to cut down some stuff

- i don’t know what to cut without feeling like i’m horribly flattening the characters, and since it’s a very character driven story, that’s Bad

- bonus step: i don’t even know how to WRITE anymore, period

- extra bonus: i *never* knew how to write, i’m just rehashing the same thing over and over and adding bells and whistles (standard impostor syndrome, let’s just. try and gently ignore it. shush.)

- the usual advice to that is “just write everything and then cut”, which is. NOT HELPING. my “method” is long, slow, tedious. i need to *reduce the amount of writing i have to do in the first place*. because my process means that wether i want to or not, i keep adding stuff every time i write a bit of the story just to be able to write SOMETHING

- yes it’s annoying. yes i’ve tried not to. idk how. I WISH I KNEW

- at this point i just want to give up. problem: it’s not an option.

- since i know it’s not an option, i think: hey what if i got professional help? like, a writing coach. a co-author.

- … these have problems too: mainly, for the first, no trustworthy person i know is available, and also i would have to pay, which has its how anxieties attached (yes i f—ing HATE THAT ANXIETY don’t worry i know that kind of work is worth the price when done well) and for the second, WHO. WHOMST. WHO THE FORK would sign up to co-write a story i have entirely plotted out, in a world and with characters that are already so fleshed out they feel solid and real in my mind, and so would basically end up being a ghost writer for a novel (or short series) with a ridiculously massive wordcount and a completely unknown author? no-one that’s who. no-one has that kind of time and dedication for a project they won’t add creative stuff to and that’s not very likely to sell. and on top of it feeling Very Wrong, i don’t have the money to actually pay a ghostwriter.

- (also: no, i won’t ask chatgpt omfg i write IN FRENCH that’s why it wouldn’t sell! no i can’t write that story in english. i’ve tried. it’s horrible; i overthink everything even more. big nope.)

-  at this point, idek what i want anymore.

- fifo’s timing being IMPECCABLE as always, he pops by towards the very end of that big paragraph above, and goes “woah, you’re now flopped in the comfy chair playing zelda :o” to which i reply “no i’m ranting about how i can’t write :| ” and so he patpatpats my shoulder and since i feel like crying and don’t want that to happen i shoo him away. the whole moment does NOTHING to help.

- i know even less what i want.

- bonus: it’s 3:20 pm, and my lunch, a plate of pasta, is cooling for the third time or so in an hour. i’m wondering if it’s still worth heating up again. brb i’ll solve that conundrum.

- by “idk what i want” i mean: do i actually want to write that story, and share it with random people who might like it (yay) or not (meh) and maybe even be awful *to me* about it (yikes)? but what else could i do anyway? develop endlessly and seemingly pointlessly their world, and the story behind it being lost with me when i inevitably die? (yeah, all of us, sooner or later)

- at this point, brian the forking brain informs me that publishers would hate my story anyway, because a character that used to be a kind of self insert (and is still part of my coping mechanisms for stuff like, yknow, being mortal) is waaayyyy too obviously that and “urgh, cringe”. first, brian, wtfh, we are 40, we are trying to be a positive person, and “cringe” is IN NO WAY part of our vocabulary o_o shut up.

- so. i can’t abandon this project that is too big for me. i can’t write it either, because i have no idea how to make it smaller to help me cope with it. at some point i thought writing linearily and publish as i was writing would help with that, but… no. it doesn’t. i can’t write straight (hah) to save my life. sorry, i meant 'novel’. same thing though at this point. idek how to *cut down that thing into manageable chapters* they are all SO DAMN LONG WHY (also blog interfaces, for posting and reading, are… Not Made For That. and AO3 was no better when i used it to post a thing.)

- so, i’m stuck in limbo. another solution would be “read! read a LOT!” and— look. i’m not sure i have the spoons for it. i’ll try, with audiobooks, but then i feel like i'll probably just feed my impostor syndrome.

- in conclusion, fuck everything, i’ll finish my pasta and go back to playing zeld while drinking coke.

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

my problem with my writing is that… the process is intense.

that’s a phrase i just found somewhere else, and it’s accurate for me too, though in a different way than the one that was illustrated there.

i have to put myself in the shoes of my characters.

ALL of them.

it’s frequent that, if i’m stuck and don’t know how someone will react in a scene, i’ll start over from their point of view, and try again.

or unravel a LOT of their life up to this point, if the moment is especially significant to the plot and these people.

it’s intense, time-consuming, distracting, and very ineffective.

but oh gosh how much i love my characters now. i know a lot about them. and i want to tell their story… stories.

but i’m so tired. of doing all that work alone, and yet needing validation and feedback every forking step of the way.

sometimes i’ll miss the times when i was a teenager and wrote so much by hand, tons and tons of dialogue and lore and random stuff, at home, during class, recess, everywhere. … and then i’ll remember how terrible that stuff was, and how i’d probably be super embarrassed to read it again now.

still. i miss the momentum, and not needing anyone to read it, and writing even more anyway.

[angrylittlesliceofpizza]

i aten’t dead! (yet)

just very busy with nanowrimo.

if you’re interested in that, and read french, a bit under the cut. also, if you look up ‘notilya’ in fb, you can find the novek’s page there :3

Dans son coin, Alnao semblait perdu. Oyme tenta de parler avec eil, mais la discussion n’alla pas loin. — J’ai passé toute ma vie à essayer de réconcilier ce que je pensais savoir de mon ancêtre naiim le plus connu – j’en ai sûrement d’autres – et ce qu’en disent régulièrement les Patients, l’Institut et le reste du monde. Je n’ai jamais cru que les Patients pouvaient avoir trouvé les dieux de Noltilya… — Et vous avez raison. Les Trois ne sont pas des dieux. — Mais eils existent. Et ce sont eils qui continuent de prolonger votre vie, pas vrai ? — Oui. Tout comme un hja qui prend soin d’un animal sauvage pourra prolonger sa vie par ses soins. Ce n’est pas une comparaison exacte, mais pas loin. L’existence des Trois est très différente de la nôtre. Mais eils ne sont pas des dieux. Alnao dissipa la remarque d’un geste las de la main. — Peu importe. Je pensais avoir compris, avant de vous rencontrer. Vous avez bien vu. Je pensais que les incohérences que je croyais avoir repérées venaient des erreurs des autres, de leurs mensonges. Des vôtres. C’était moi qui me trompais. Mais au final je ne comprends pas plus la réalité qu’avant. — Que voulez-vous dire ? Alnao désigna la salle où se mêlaient no-naiims, noltiims, lyerygs – et Tbatis, qui dépassait tout le monde, impossible à ignorer. — Tout ça. Ce nouveau Peuple, ces Naiims qui acceptent de venir en Styllàsya et de se mêler à des gens dont eils ont toujours appris qu’eils étaient mauvais et à détruire. C’est bien, c’est très bien, tous ces liens qui se forment, mais c’est déroutant. Et au milieu, vous. — Je comprends. Ça fait beaucoup de nouveautés d’un seul coup. Le front plissé, Alnao acquiesça, le regard toujours perdu dans la foule qui encombrait le réfectoire de l’hôtel. Eil s’arrêta sur son œunfant, toujours en grande conversation avec Tbatis. — Et Olnij a l’air de s’y faire beaucoup mieux que moi. Je l’envie presque. À cause de ce “presque”, Oyme préféra ne rien répondre.